


Where There's Smoke

by kuidore



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-30 22:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuidore/pseuds/kuidore
Summary: ….And in penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up one male and one female tribute, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, at a public reaping. These tributes shall be delivered to the capital, where they will fight in a pageant of honour and glory, until one lone victor remains. Henceforth, and forevermore, this pageant shall be known as; The Hunger Games.The Hunger Games were no place for excessive emotions. Clarke knew caring was weakness, and with twenty three teenagers thirsting for your blood, weakness could only mean death.!!Currently Being Edited. Chapters will be reposted as they're finished!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> !!Important, please read, ESPECIALLY if you're an older reader!!
> 
> I've made the decision to go over and edit the entirety of this story, and I highly reccomend rereading if you arent a new reader. As of the time I'm writing this (2018-08-03), I've deleted any chapters posted beyond chapter 7, and am currently rewriting them. Initially, I'd spend my time trying to get out chapters as soon as I could, taking no time to go through or edit anything. I lost inspiration pretty quickly, as any readers who were here before my month-or-so long abscence know all too well. It was just a few days ago when I realized exactly why. I knew that the writing wasn't my best work, and I wanted to fix it, but I was worried that going back and changing things would annoy my readers (because some of the changes would mean they'd have to reread the chapters), and I was honestly, at a point, just being too lazy to wanna go back and rewrite everything. But I realized that I would rather put out my best work, and quickly managed to find my inspiration to write once I began editing the story. I'm going to take my time from here on out, so I don't think you'll be able to expect my previous update schedule, but I think you'll all be happier with the work I'm going to put out henceforth. Thank you all for your continual support!
> 
> TL;DR: I'm editing this story and am going to be reposting the chapters, if you are someone who began reading around when this story first began, please please please reread the chapters so you aren't confused, because there will be changes in the content of the chapters.

_….And in penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up one male and one female tribute, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, at a public reaping. These tributes shall be delivered to the capital, where they will fight in a pageant of honour and glory, until one lone victor remains. Henceforth, and forevermore, this pageant shall be known as; The Hunger Games._

The lukewarm water brushed at Clarke’s temples as she leaned over the tub, rinsing the soap from her hair. On any regular day, she would be able to hear miners marching through the streets, or children running about in the square. If she listened very carefully, she may have even been able to hear the soft chirps of mockingjays behind the every-constant noise of District Twelve. But today, the only thing Clarke could hear was the soft splashes of water droplets on the wooden floor as she climbed from the bathtub, wrapping a cloth around herself as the cool air pricked at her skin. She knew exactly what she would see if she glanced out her window; blinds shut tight, maybe a few peacekeepers on their way to the square. Nature so still it seemed as if the Earth itself was holding its breath in anticipation for what was to come.

_Reaping day._

In Polis, the reaping was treated as a festivity. They gathered in public areas, cheering as they watched each district select their tributes. It was like a holiday, from what Clarke had heard. It was different for those in Polis, though. They were safe; the children didn't have to stand in the heat and wait to see if their name was to be chosen from the glass bowl. Parents didn't have to sit on the sidelines and pray that their child would be spared for another year.

The districts had a much more somber outlook on the event; at least, most of them did. The wealthier districts - one, two, and four- celebrated the games almost as much as Polis did. The children trained almost their entire lives, so they could volunteer when they turned eighteen. They considered it an honour to be chosen to die.

Maybe Clarke just didn’t see the ‘honour’ in accepting the possibility of death with such alacrity.

Turning, Clarke stepped quietly towards her room. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she saw the light grey dress, spread out across her bedsheet by her mother. She took her time, drying out her hair thoroughly before tying it back in her best attempt at a braid. Her movements were slow, even as she began to dress; as if a part of her believed that somehow, she'd be able to stall time.

The knock on her door came just as she pulled on her shoes.

“Come in” Clarke spoke just loud enough to be heard from the other side of the wood as she looked at herself in the cracked mirror leaning against her bedroom wall. A small smile graced her face as her mother stepped into view behind her, her calloused fingers redoing Clarke’s messy attempt at a braid in silence. She watched as her mother's lips pulled up into a forced smile. The action made the wrinkles in her skin stand out a bit more, the lines in her forehead betraying her worry. Clarke could remember a time when her mother didn't look the way she did; when the stress hadn't yet carved itself into her tanned skin and aged her by what seemed like years.

“I love you, Clarke,” Abby murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head. Clarke had to blink back the sting that began to form behind her eyes.

“I love you too, Mom,” Clarke whispered, turning around to wrap her mother in a tight embrace. The two pulled away as they heard sound of the square's bell shattering the silence outside. “I’ll see you after the reaping,”  _Either here, or in the justice building._

She seamlessly integrated herself into the crowd of people making their way towards the check in, ignoring her thoughts. A couple feet in front of her stood a twelve year old girl, holding the hand of who Clarke could only assume was her sister as she tried to hold back her tears. To her left there was a boy maybe a year or two older than her, shoulders set and jaw clenched in a way that seemed to attempt to give off bravery, but the fear behind his eyes was just as obvious as anyone else's. Her eyes continued to scan the crowd. A thirteen year old boy holding back tears, a girl her age who stared ahead blankly as they pricked her finger. A young boy crying as he was forced away from his older brother. Would one of them be chosen? Forced to fight for their life for the amusement of the people from Polis?

_Better them than me._

The guilt dropped into her stomach like a stone at the thought. It was terrible, but every other person here was thinking the same thing. They'd rather watch someone else die than experience it themselves.

She was tugged out of her thoughts by the weight of a hand resting on her shoulder. Jumping slightly, she turned her head and found herself staring at the familiar face of Wells Jaha. Letting out a relieved sigh, she muttered something about him scaring her, before turning back to look at the crowd. She felt his shoulder brush her own as they slowly made their way closer and closer to the check in.

“This is it.. My last reaping” Wells murmur broke the tense silence, and Clarke could only nod in agreement.

“You’re only in there seven times.. Your chances are slim,” She murmured in return, her hand resting on his bicep in a gesture of attempted comfort.

“So are yours. You’re only in there six times.” Wells shot her a small smile, and she nodded. Reaping day was always the day she was most thankful for her mother's job and the money it brought it. They were more well off than most in the district. Even after the loss of her father, they had managed to do well for themselves. They almost never had to go hungry, at least not for long, and they had a decent home near the outskirts of the square. And Wells, as the mayor's son, never had to worry about money a day in his life. They were fortunate, or at least as fortunate you could be living somewhere like district twelve. They never had to take tesserae, never had to put their name in extra times just to get food.

"I'll see you after the reaping," Wells lightly nudged her side, urging her forward.

"May the odds be ever in your favour," She joked halfheartedly, hearing his soft chuckle as she stepped forward. A small prick and a drop of her blood on paper, and then Clarke was ushered into the area with the other sixteen year old girls. They were closed in by ropes, all squished shoulder to shoulder. It was like they were cattle being chosen for slaughter.

'Clarke didn't pay attention as Mayor Thelonious stepped up to the mic, reciting the same mundane speech he did every year. She'd heard the speech enough to recite it from memory. Instead, Clarke’s eyes scanned the crowd. She wasn’t able to see her mother but she knew she'd be on the sidelines with the other adults, waiting just as anxiously as any of the children for the names to be drawn. It wasn’t until Costia Arbore, the escort for district twelve, stepped up to the podium that Clarke started paying attention. She looked like a walking traffic cone, dressed entirely in bright orange with a ridiculous wig. Clarke had to hold back a cringe as the woman tapped on the microphone with a long fingernail, clearing her throat.

"Welcome, welcome!" Her voice was nasally, the ridiculousness of her Polis accent ringing through the square, "I think Mayor Thelonious has covered the majority of the formalities! So-" She clapped her hands together, and Clarke's stomach twisted at the excitement that shone on the escort's face, "As always, Ladies first! And may the odds be  _ever_ in your favour."

The square was silent, the soft clicking of Costia's heels the only sound as she made her way towards the large glass bowl labeled  _Girls_. Clarke could feel her heartbeat speed up as she dove a hand into the pile of papers, rifling around for a couple seconds.

 _Six.. Six of those papers say my name._  

The time seemed to pass agonizingly slow as Costia pulled out the folded piece of paper, making her way back to the podium and pulling it open. By this point, Clarke could hear the rush of her own blood in her ears, watching as she pulled apart the paper and cleared her throat.

“Clarke Griffin!”

Even over the pounding in her ears, Clarke heard it loud and clear. Her entire body seemed to go cold, a dull ache in the pits of her chest as she watched heads turn towards her. She wasn't even sure if she was breathing anymore, staring forward with wide eyes as Costia called out the name a second time. A gentle nudge from behind was what prompted her forward. She felt as if her limbs had turned to lead, each step taking more effort than the last as she stepped out of the enclosure and made her way towards the stage. It seemed like years before she'd finally reached Costia, the grin on the woman's face making her nauseous as she took her place.

Clarke was numb, staring blankly over the heads of everyone ahead of her as she tried to ignore the burning behind her eyes. She heard the clicking of Costia's heels and the sound of her rifling through the other bowl. _Not Wells.. Anyone but Wells.._

The escort stepped up to the podium for a second time, and Clarke continued to repeat the words in her mind like it was her own personal mantra.

“Finn Collins!”

 

A wave of relief washed through her. She watched as a boy with long, shaggy hair broke away from the crowd. She recognized him from around school, but they'd never spoken. Clarke was thankful for that; the less she knew her competitors, the easier they would be to kill. He took his spot next to her, as Costia called for any volunteers. Clarke knew there would be none. There had never been a volunteer from Twelve.

 "Well then; I guess we have our tributes!" Clarke clenched her jaw as Costia spoke again, "Everyone give it up for the district twelve tributes for the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games! Shake hands you two!"

The square was silent aside from Costia's clapping. Her movements were robotic as she turned to face Finn, and after a quick handshake, they were ushered into the justice building for what would most likely be their final goodbyes to the people they loved.

 

* * *

 

 

Wells was first. It seemed that the second the peacekeepers opened the doors, she was already in his arms. Her fingers gripped desperately at his jacket, her face buried in the crook of his neck as he held her by her waist. The moment lasted only a couple seconds, before Clarke broke the silence.

“Wells, take care of my mother. Don’t let her do anything stupid. If I don’t-“ Clarke’s rambling was cut off mid sentence, as Wells' arms wrapped tighter around her.

“Don’t say that. You’re going to make it out of that arena. You’re smart, Clarke. You know wild flora inside and out, you know how to survive,”

“Wells, I can’t fight. I’m not strong, I’m not big. I can barely throw a knife!” Clarke whispered, unable to stop her panic from leaking into her voice. She tried to force it away; she couldn't afford to fall into hysteria or tears now. The moment she was out of the justice building, there would be cameras on her. No one is going to want to sponsor a tribute who was a mess before the games had even began.

“That’s what training is for. You’ll have a week; don’t bother with what you know. Learn to use the weapons, do what you can. You can win this Clarke, I know you can.” Wells pulled away from the bug and squeezed her arms, "Just don't die in there,"

Clarke pursed her lips before she pulled Wells into another hug, attempting to steady her own breathing. “I’ll try.” She murmured, unsure of what else to say. She knew she couldn’t make the promise Wells was asking for. There would be twenty-four other tributes inside that arena, all with the same goal; to survive. Her medical skills wouldn't help her when someone decided to put a spear through her chest.

Too soon, Clarke felt Wells being pulled from the embrace by peacekeepers and ushered out the door, and she attempted to come to terms with the fact that this may be the last time she saw her best friend.

Next was her mother, pushing through the doors before the peacekeepers had the chance to open them. The embrace was tight, and Clarke knew that her mother was close to breaking down.

“It’s going to be okay, I’ll be back before you know it…” Clarke made a pitiful attempt at comfort as her arms wrapped back around her mother. Her fingers threaded through her the woman's greying hair, the same way she had always done to calm Clarke down after a particularly bad nightmare.

The rest of their time was spent in silence, words that seemed too meaningless to be said hanging in the heavy air. As her mother was pulled from her, Clarke forced herself to hold back tears. There would be plenty of time for crying on the train to Polis.

“I love you!” Was all she was able to say before the doors slammed shut.

Clarke used the windowsill to steady herself, eyes shut tight as she found against the lump in her throat.

Her fingers ran across the ornate wood as she opened her eyes and looked out at the town square. People were already being ushered away, towards where their train to Polis would be departing. She couldn’t help but wonder if her mother would be there; or if she would have already retreated back to their small house just outside the market, blinds shut tightly as she came to terms with the fact that within three weeks, her daughter would be force to fight for her life in an arena full of other children.

“Miss Griffin,” It took the peacekeeper’s words to pull her from her daze. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she wiped her face of all emotion and followed him out of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke hesitated slightly as she came to the doors of the justice building, her nails digging into the palm of her hand. She knew there was no point in attempting to run, not with peacekeepers swarming the boarding area, but the thought still flitted across her mind. She jumped slightly when she felt a warm palm press to her back, and she turned to see Finn giving her what seemed like an attempt at a comforting half smile. She hadn't even notice him come down after her. Clarke could tell he’d been crying; His eyes were puffy and rimmed with red, and now more than ever was she grateful she had managed to keep the tears at bay.

“Hey, it’s alright. Keep that head high,” He murmured, giving her a gentle nudge forward. Clarke's teeth caught on her bottom lip and she nodded a little, and as she stepped from the justice building, she did just that. Squaring her shoulders, Clarke kept her chin up as she stared ahead. She focused entirely on the door to the train, refusing to allow herself to even glance at the Polis reporters swarming the station.

The tension in her body dissipated only once the door to the train had closed behind them.

“Now, first things first” Costia clapped her hands together, her obnoxious Polis accent grating away at Clarke’s patience already, “Through that door is where we’ll be eating breakfast, and down that hallway are your rooms; they’ve already been stocked with a change of clothes. We just felt that your first impression on Polis should be a bit more.. pristine.” She gave a too-large grin. Clarke couldn't help but wonder if all the smiling made her cheeks hurt, “You’re free to roam the train as you please.”

Clarke didn't acknowledge Costia's words beyond giving a slight nod. After a quick glance at Finn, a silent attempt at a thank you, she turned and made her way towards the bedroom. Everything seemed much too nice for a train. There were expensive chandeliers in every room, ornate designs carved into almost every wooden surface and pristine wallpaper covering every room. Clarke didn't even flick on the light, slipping off her shoes and collapsing against the comforter. She finally allowed the tears to come. Beneath the safety of the covers, she stared blankly at the wall, feeling the silent tears streaming down her face.

She wasn't sure if it was minutes or hours later when the tears stopped, and she began to drift off. But before unconsciousness had completely pulled her into it's embrace, there was a loud knocking at her door.

“One second," She called, climbing out of bed and flicking on her light. To the best of her abilities she attempted to hide her tears, but her eyes were still rimmed with red when she unlocked and opened the door. She'd expected Costia, here to berate her for closing herself off in her room or to tell her that they were eating. Clarke was surprised when she saw Finn outside, leaning against the wall.

“Hey,” Finn's lips pulled up into a slight grin as he saw her disheveled state, "Were you sleeping?" He raised an eyebrow, a tone of amusement lacing his words. Gone was the boy Clarke'd seen just a couple hours ago, with red rimmed eyes, tear stained cheeks, and a cloud of hopelessness following just a step behind. Instead he was grinning, confident and - to her shock -  _happy._ She couldn't help but wonder how he managed to look so positive with the situation they were in.

"Not really, why?" She raised an eyebrow. Her tone held no friendliness or humour; it was blank. Clarke had no intentions of forming bonds with any of her fellow tributes, and that included Finn. Once they were in the arena, it would do nothing but complicate things.

Her cool tone didn't seem to shake Finn in the slightest, his grin staying in place as he stood properly, "Dinner. Our mentor's finally sobered up. Figured it'd be a good idea to talk about strategies or whatever before we get to Polis tomorrow,"

The games were the last thing Clarke wanted to think about right now, but she knew they didn't have a choice, "Alright. I'll need to change, then I'll be there." With that she closed the door, ignoring the chuckle that came from the other side.

Clarke made her way into the bathroom, fingers running along the walls. The bedroom itself was plain, but it was still more than Clarke had ever known. The bathroom, however, was something else entirely. It had a pristine white bathtub, unlike the old metal ones the people in twelve used, a glass box with a hundred different buttons that she could only assume was a shower, and a couple gadgets littering the counter that she was wary to touch until she knew what they did.

Clarke couldn’t come to terms with the fact that people, regular people, lived this way. District Twelve was lucky to get four hours of electricity a day, and the people in Polis just had.. practically anything they wanted.

_I’ll admire it all later.. I need to eat_

The low growling of her stomach seemed to punctuate her words. Her fingers gently took out the intricate braid her mother had woven her hair into, and she let the blonde waves hang loose over her shoulders. Clarke made her way out of the bathroom and stripped to her underwear, digging through the drawers in search of something to wear. She settled on a loose fitting black t-shirt and a pair of dark green jeans, before stepping out of her room. She was more than a little surprised to see Finn still out in the hallway, sitting on the ground and leaning back against the wall.

“Took you long enough, Princess” He moved to stand, hands in his pockets as he shot Clarke another half smile.

“Why’re you still here? Weren’t you going to dinner?” She raised an eyebrow, ignoring the ridiculous nickname as she began walking down the hallway. She didn't slow her steps for Finn, but the taller boy didn't have much issue keeping up.

“Figured we could walk together, get to know each other a bit more," It took one glance at the other tribute for Clarke to realize he was serious, "I mean, we're gonna be forced into an arena with twenty two other tributes who wanna murder us. Having a friend may not be the worse idea in the world,"

"Friend?" She raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, "Friends are useless in the arena. At the very least, one of us is going to die in the arena. The last thing anyone needs is some sort of emotional tie before that happens," Clarke's words were serious, and it made her all the more annoyed when she heard Finn's laughter.

“You're just a ball of sunshine, aren't you princess?" He spoke through laughter, stepping ahead of Clarke as they walked into the dining car. She resisted the urge to grit her teeth as she followed after him. Grabbing a plate, she practically gaped at the piles of food laid out in front of her. What she saw now would be enough to feed almost the entirety of district twelve; and yet here it was, laid out so perfectly for just four people. It really was hard to wrap her head around just how well off the people of Polis were, especially compared to the poorest district. She piled her plate high with food before moving to sit across from Costia. She ignored the woman's almost disgusted look as Clarke began to eat as if she'd never seen food before. Clearing her throat, the woman looked away with a tight lipped smile.

“Finally! Now; I think it’s time you get properly introduced to your mentor. Clarke, Finn; this is Marcus Kane, the victor of the second quarter quell!” Costia began to clap, but it soon died out when she realized that neither Finn nor Clarke were planning to join her. The two were more interested in their food than the escort. Marcus didn't do more than give them a nod of acknowledgement, pouring a harsh smelling amber liquid into a glass with ice.

Marcus was nothing if not infamous around district twelve. The second ever victor from the district and the only one who was still alive, Marcus had emerged victorious from one of the most difficult games in history; the second Quarter Quell. The Quarter Quells happened every twenty-five years, and each had a twist that was supposed to make things more exciting for the audience, and more difficult for the tributes; as if watching children fight to the deal wasn't enough for those in Polis. The first Quarter Quell had required the adults from the district to vote on which tributes were chosen. The President said that it was a reminder that it was the decisions of the rebellion that resulted in the Hunger Games in the first place.

The 50th games, and the second Quarter Quell, had double the amount of regular tributes. Instead of two, four children from each district were chosen to fight. Something about how for every Capitol Citizen killed during the rebellion, two rebels died. To top it off, the arena was the most dangerous to date; stocked high with poisonous flora and dangerous muttations. Clarke had heard that more tributes lost their lives to the arena than to other tributes.

It wasn't just his victory that had made Marcus infamous, though. A couple years after his victory, he'd become the district's token alcoholic. Never seen without a bottle in his hand, Marcus barely left the victors village; that is, unless he had to go to buy more alcohol. Some said that he was the reason so many tributes from twelve died in the games; he was always too drunk to deal with or accept any sponsors. According to some people, he'd started out trying to help the tributes. But he'd turned to the bottle when the cycle of forming emotional bonds with the kids only to turn around and watch them die became too much for him to handle. Clarke wouldn't be surprised if that was true.

“So; how are we supposed to win?” Finn spoke almost the second Marcus moved to take his seat, seemingly throwing all formalities to the wind in favour of figuring out strategies early.

“Hm..” Marcus’ voice was slightly slurred, an obvious hint at his level of intoxication, and he fiddled with the collar of his wrinkled shirt as he seemed to ponder the question, "Don't die." He remained serious for a moment before cackling softly, as though he'd just made the most clever joke of the century. Clarke gritted her teeth as he knocked back his drink.

She knew there was usein paying attention to anything Marcus said; it had been years since he’d actually helped any tribute, she couldn’t expect him to to suddenly start now. But she still couldn’t help the flare of anger that appeared at his laughter; it was like he was mocking their desire to survive. But Clarke bit her tongue and buttered her roll perhaps a little too aggresively. She'd probably be able to come up with better strategies on her own than with the help of Kane, so she didn't see a point in pushing for his assistance.

Finn seemed to have a different outlook on the situation.

“Yea, that was a little obvious. But how do we do that?" Finn's tone was serious, and he leaned his elbows against the table as he watched Marcus pour himself another drink, "You survived. Now teach us how to."

“Seems like something you should be able to figure out on your own. If you can't.. Well, maybe you don't deserve to survive in the first place.” He shrugged carelessly, his tone practically dripping with apathy. It was the shrug that pushed Clarke's anger over the boiling point. Marcus leaned forward to grab a bun from the center of the table, and Clarke’s body moved before her mind had the chance to consider the consequences of what she was doing.

_Thud_

The butter knife in Clarke’s hand drove a couple centimeters into the wooden table, directly in between Marcus’ index and middle fingers.

“I don’t think that a drunken idiot should be the one deciding whether or not we deserve to survive,” Clarke's words were nothing more than a growl, eyes blazing with anger as she glared at Marcus. She ignored Costia's shriek, and her jabbering about Clarke's lack of manners.

Costia aside, there were a few moments of silence. Until Marcus laughed.

“You’ve definitely got spunk, I’ll give you that much, sweetheart,” He took the butter knife from the table and used it to cut his roll, but before Clarke could snap at him again, he started talking. Somehow, her outburst seemed to incline him to actually help them.

“First things first is water. More often than not, there’ll be at least one source of freshwater for drinking, it could be a pond, or a stream. It may be somewhere unconventional, like in trees or something. But there will be a source of water. There’ll probably also be some sort of food in the environment; berries, fruit, animals. It’s no fun for the audience if you all die of starvation or thirst. They want bloodshed.” Clarke sat down once she was sure Marcus was giving them actual advice, beginning to eat again as she attempted to absorb his advice.

“Those’re the most important things you need to know for now. Training will be where you learn most of your survival skills.. but your only priority until training begins is to impress as many people as you can. I’ll talk a bit more about that tomorrow, when we get closer to Polis. Until then, you two will need your sleep. We'll talk more over breakfast," With that Marcus stood, leaving his half finished drink behind as he exited the meal car. After finishing off her food, Clarke followed, hearing the creak of a chair and footsteps as Finn went with her.

“Didn’t think you had that in you,” Finn broke the silence as they arrived at the doors to their rooms, an amused smile on his lips, "Who knew? All it took to get some advice was almost getting stabbed with a butterknife."

Clarke tried to force back the slight smile that pulled at her lips.

“Yeah well, it didn't seem to get us much. Those're basic things we could've come up with on our own anyways. Let's just hope he stays good on this 'being a mentor' thing," She sighed, pursing her lips.

"He better. Because who knows what weapons'll be available once we're in Polis. You may get your first kill before we even get to the arena." Finn's grin grew, and Clarke forced back a laugh and shook her head at the dark joke.

"Whatever," She shook her head, turning her back on Finn and opening her door, "I'm going to bed. Night, Finn," She shifted to close the door behind her, just barely catching Finn's goodnight as the sliding doors slipped shut.

“Night, Princess”


	2. Chapter 2

 

Clarke woke up late the next morning, still clinging to the last remains of sleep as she curled in on herself beneath the covers. After a few minutes of laying with her eyes closed, willing her body to pull her back into unconsciousness, she gave up and pulled herself out of bed. She ran a comb through her hair, still slightly damp from her shower from the night before, and wondered how close they were to Polis. They still had to be a couple hours; otherwise Costia probably would have made her way into her bedroom and insisted she wake up and make herself presentable. Clarke stayed in her wrinkled sleep clothes, rubbing her eyes and making her way towards the meal car where Marcus and Finn already sat, conversing quietly.

“Thanks for finally joining us,” Marcus spoke as Clarke stepped into view, grabbing a plate and piling it with fruit and breakfast pastries before taking her seat beside Finn. Marcus was, of course, not without his glass of whiskey, but he was more sober than Clarke had ever seen him. Taking a bite of a piece of a sliced piece of sweet green fruit she didn't recognize, she allowed herself to harbor a little bit of hope for their situation.

“We were talking about the Tribute parade.” Finn swallowed his mouthful of scrambled eggs before he spoke, and Clarke nodded a little in acknowledgement, more focused on the food in front of her than speaking.

“The Tribute Parade is going to be one of the first times that the citizens of Polis as a majority, along with the districts, see you for what you are; Tributes. The visuals will be left to your stylists, but the most important part will be how well your personalities show through. The more the citizens like you-”

“The more sponsors we get,” Clarke interrupted as she swallowed a bite of a sweet strawberry pastry, and Marcus met her statement with a nod.

“If I were you, I’d start focusing on that the second you're off this train. You can hate each and every one of them with a passion; but to their faces, you need to smile, wave. Make them think you’re the kindest people on the planet,” Marcus leaned back in his seat, taking a bite of a dry piece of toast.

Clarke bit back a sarcastic remark, eyes flicking to the hole in the table where her knife had gone through the wood the day before. She could be a good actress, sure, but she wasn't sure how well she'd do with people she hated so intently. Marcus didn't wait for a response before he continued speaking.

"Your interviews will play the most important part in getting you sponsors. You'll have five minutes to make Polis fall in love with you; so do it right. Interviews can make or break a tribute's chances at sponsorships. Every tribute is going to find an angle for their interview. I'm sure you've seen it before. We'll need to find one for both of you by the time the interviews come up,"

The interviews were what Clarke was most worried about in preparation for the games. She had absolutely no idea how she'd act in front of not only the other tributes, but all of Polis, and the districts.

“That can all be dealt with in Polis, as we get closer to the interviews. The tribute parade is tomorrow night; you two will have the rest of today to settle into the training centre, and then tomorrow you’ll be handed over to your stylists.” Marcus’ words interrupted Clarke’s thoughts, “Just do your best to listen to them, and don’t start any trouble. A good deal of your image will be left to them. Just let them do what they do.”

The idea of being left to the designers made Clarke cringe slightly. It was tradition that the tributes’ looks for the parade be based off of their district’s main industry export. District One’s tributes would often be covered in gold and jewels, District Two’s were often dressed in artistic representations of battle armour. District Twelve’s industry was mining; and no matter how many times the stylists tried to make headlamps and jumpsuits work, the tributes from Twelve always ended up looking underwhelming in comparison to the other tributes.

Clarke could only pray they didn't get the same stylist as last years tribute's; someone who felt a good representation of coal mining had been to strip the tributes naked and cover them in a glittery rendition of soot.

Finn seemed to share her concerns, and the two glanced at each other nervously as Marcus sipped at his drink. Clarke let almost a full minute of silence pass between them before she spoke.

“If we’re going to be listening to everything you tell us to do, we want something in return.” Clarke said, locking eyes with Marcus as Finn gave her a look from the corner of his eye that said _Be careful_. Marcus didn’t do more than raise an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. Clarke took this as her indication to continue.

“You stay sober throughout the games. It starts when we get to Polis. You won't be able to help us if you're drunk the whole time.” Clarke demanded. Marcus seemed to consider it, before letting out a heavy sigh.

“You two have to listen to _everything_ I say. I don't care if you disagree, or hate my advice with a burning passion. My advice will help you survive. If you can manage that, then I'll lay off the bottle during the games” He set his glass aside as if to punctuate his statement.

Clarke and Finn shared a quick glance, before turning and giving Marcus a curt nod, “Deal.”

Marcus moved to stand, stretching his arms over his head, “Good. We’re an hour from Polis; I suggest you two wash up. And like i said; try your best to look friendly.” Clarke couldn't help but feel as if the statement was directed at her. Marcus made his way out of the meal car, and she finished off the last of her food.

“Thank god he agreed to that..” Clarke murmured, more to herself than anything, and from the corner of her eye she caught Finn nodding in agreement.

“Yea.. It gives us a better shot, at least. It’s something.” Finn sighed out, standing to grab another plate of food. Clarke hesitated a moment before standing, making her way towards the door of the meal car.

"I'm going to get ready. As much as I hate it, Marcus is right. We need to make a good first impression," Her back was to Finn, but she could feel his eyes on the back of her head. Without waiting for a response she stepped into the hallway and made her way towards her bedroom.

As she made her way out of the car, she just barely missed Finn's amused murmur of _You really are something else, Princess_.

 

* * *

 

 

A half hour later, after tying her hair back in a poor imitation of her mother's braid and changing into some nicer clothes, Clarke sat in the lounge car in the back of the train. Hugging her knees to her chest as she sat on the cushioned couch, she watched the scenery whip past the train in a flurry of different shades of green. The sight of the forests made her chest ache, reminding her of home.

 _Home_. What was going on at home? Was her mother alright? Was Wells? She was sure that for most, life was going on as normal. This happened every year; they were probably just relieved it wasn't them who were chosen.

Clarke didn't blame them; she thought the exact same thing after every reaping. But it was different being on the other end.

The sliding doors pulled her out of her thoughts, and she glanced up as Finn stepped into the car. He shot her a small smile, almost looking nervous, and for once she returned it. He sat down beside her, resting his arm along the back of the couch and turning so his body was facing Clarke's, but his head was turned so he was looking out the window. They sat in silence for about ten minutes, watching the blur of the scenery as the train got closer and closer to Polis with every second.

“Do you miss it?” Clarke blurted out, gaze still focused on the trees as she broke the silence. From the corner of her eye she saw Finn turn to look at her.

“Miss what?” He asked, eyebrows furrowing in mild confusion. She pulled her gaze away from the windows to face him.

“Twelve. I mean.. It’s been less than a day, but..” She trailed off, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ears. Finn thought for a few moments, before shaking his head a bit.

“No.. Not really, if I’m being honest. Not all of District Twelve is as nice as the merchant’s, Princess. There’s not much to miss from the Seam,” There was no accusation in his voice. No tone that suggested, in any way, he resented Clarke for their differences in upbringing. And somehow, that made her feel worse than if he had’ve snapped at her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” Clarke’s words were cut off by a shake of Finn’s head.

“No, don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for; you can’t help how you were raised anymore than I can. It’s just.. I can’t even force myself to miss it. District Twelve has nothing really to offer me. Or anyone, if we’re being honest” Clarke couldn’t stop her smile at his attempt at a joke, “Even if I win, and go back.. There’s no one really waiting up for me” He shrugged, and though his smile stayed on his face, the look in his eyes made Clarke’s chest ache slightly.

“I’m sure that’s not true.. There’s gotta be someone. Someone you really care about.” Clarke gently nudged him with her foot. She saw Finn’s teeth catch on his bottom lip, and he hesitated a few moments before responding.

“I guess.” Finn didn’t elaborate, and though she could tell he was hiding something, Clarke didn’t pry. They sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, before the train was engulfed by a tunnel, sending the car into almost complete darkness.

“We’ve gotta be close.. We should probably go find Marcus and Costia.” She spoke softly, before standing up. Finn followed after her, walking towards the door.

“After you, Princess,” Finn grinned, faking a bow as he clicked the button to open the sliding door.

“Y’know, chivalry doesn’t exactly have the same affect when you’re not actually holding the door for me,” Clarke teased, and Finn’s laugh rung through the car.

“It’s the thought that counts,” He shrugged, sending Clarke into her own little bout of laughter. Their short conversation had made her feel a little lighter, and her anxiety about getting to Polis had been pushed to the back of her mind as they walked side by side down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

 

They were only outside for a couple minutes; surrounded by peacekeepers, Clarke and Finn had barely had the time to make any “first impressions” before they were ushered into the elevator that would take them to their quarters within the training center. Clarke couldn’t help but gape slightly as the glass elevator shot upwards. Their quarters were assigned based on their district, with One being on the ground floor just above the training area, and Twelve having the penthouse. Clarke felt a lurch in her stomach as she glanced down at the ground, an awed grin spread across her face. Beside her, Finn watched with a smile.

“Get settled into your rooms, they’re just down that hallway, and then come out for dinner!” Costia trilled, leading them into their residence. Clarke just barely stopped her mouth from falling open; if she had thought the train was fancy, it was nothing compared to the penthouse. There were exquisite pieces of art hung on every wall, intricately carved statues positioned in every corner and on every end table. It was almost entirely open, with two hallways leading off to what Clarke assumed were the bedrooms. There was a dining set up on one side of the room, and a large television that took up almost the entire wall on the other. Directly in front of them, looking out onto Polis, was a wall made entirely of glass. Clarke could have stood and admired it forever.

She felt a hand rest on her lower back, pulling her out of her daze. When she looked over, Finn was watching her with an amused expession

“You seem a little starstruck, Princess” He teased, putting a slight amount of pressure on her back to encourage her to walk forward, but Clarke lightly nudged his arm away, sending him a half-hearted glare.

“I can walk on my own, Finn” She turned away and walked towards the bedrooms, ignoring the laughter as Finn followed after her. Now that they were in Polis, everything seemed a little more real. Now more than ever, She was intent on putting distance between her and her fellow tribute, both physically and emotionally.

“I don’t doubt it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Most of dinner passed in silence, save for the occasional comment from Costia about how “lucky” Finn and Clarke were to be receiving this sort of treatment.

 _So lucky, being pampered before our deaths,_ Clarke couldn’t help but think to herself. Everything in Polis was amazing, sure, but she would take district twelve over their current situation any day.

It wasn’t until they had started on dessert (chocolate cake that was too rich for Clarke to stomach more than two bites) that Marcus began to speak. So far, he had kept good on his promise, refusing a glass of wine as it was offered to him, and avoiding the alcohol cabinet in the corner of the dining area. So Clarke listened, pushing her plate of cake over for Finn to finish.

“So.. The tribute parade,” Marcus began, putting his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his seat, “I don’t know what approach your stylists will take, but since you didn’t get much chance to make a first impression when we arrived, this is the time. Neither of you look like you could pull off the tough, quiet, intimidating approach." As much as Clarke wanted to disagree, she couldn't. There was nothing intimidating about a 5'5" blonde girl from twelve who had never picked up a weapon in her life, and Finn was too _nice_ to pull it off. Not to mention that as far as male tributes go, he was on the smaller side. "So as much as you want to stare ahead and ignore everyone, you need to interact. Blow kisses, catch the flowers they throw. Put on a smile that says ‘there’s nowhere I’d rather be’. You’ll feel stupid, but I promise, they’ll eat it up.”

Marcus was right; she already felt stupid even thinking of acting that way with the citizens of Polis, but she knew he was right. She'd seen it with her own two eyes during the broadcasting of previous years parades; the announcers went insane when the tributes acting like they actually wanted to be there, and as tributes from such an underdog district, she and Finn needed all the help they could get.

“And what next? Training starts the day after tomorrow. What do we do about that?" Finn leaned back in his chair, wiping his face with a napkin as one of the avoxes carried away their empty plates.

“The most crucial thing is not to go for skills you already know; you have two days of training before the interviews, then three after. Save the things you’re good at for your private training with the gamemakers. Clarke, for example;. Don’t bother with the stations about identifying plants or treating wounds. You know those things like the back of your hand. Focus on combat and defensive stations. Learn to use a knife, a sword, a bow. Anything. But that doesn’t mean you should forget survival skills; knot tying, fire building, trapping. Those are just as essential”

Clarke knew Marcus was right; her biggest weakness in the games would be her lack of strength and weapon experience, followed closely by her lack of survival skills.

She would be lucky to survive three days in the arena, let alone win, if she didn’t get her shit together in training. She tuned back into Marcus’ spiel as he brought up Finn. She took a moment to wonder exactly how Marcus knew the two of them so well. She could partially understand his knowledge of her skills; he'd often come to her mother for help with wounds he'd managed to give himself while drunk. But Finn?

She shook the thoughts away. Her focus needed to be on the games, not on figuring out the mysteries of their mentor.

“Finn; you hunted in twelve, so you should be good enough with a weapon. Survival skills are your first priority, and you’d do well to learn about the plants too. You two have conflicting talents; teach each other what you know. An ally, especially in the early phases of the games, won’t hurt.” Clarke internally sighed. She knew Marcus was right, but at the same time, she didn’t want it to come down to her and an ally. But if she had to, she would prefer Finn over another tribute. 

“Whatever you do, stay away from the careers. Because if you get late into the games with that group, you'll be the first one they turn against. The last thing you want is three or four careers going after you," Clarke and Finn both nodded in agreement, and Clarke attempted to shake off the chills she got at the idea of having to fight off a group of careers on her own. After a couple more minutes of discussion, Marcus made his way towards what Clarke assumed to be his bedroom, leaving her and Finn sitting alone at the table. Sometime during the conversation, Costia had made her way towards the living room, sitting on the couch as she watched some interview with the head gamemaker.

Pushing out her chair, Clarke moved to stand, before glancing over at Finn, "Have you watched the recording of the reapings yet?"

Finn shook his head as he stood, pushing his chair in, "No, I didn't get a chance last night. You?" Clarke shook her head in return.

“May as well watch them together, if we’re gonna be.. Allies.” Clarke hesitated on the word, almost immediately regretting her words as she watched Finn's lips pull up in a grin, “ _If._ I haven’t decided yet.” She clarified, but it did nothing to wipe the smile off of his face.

“Take your time, princess," He shrugged, seeming indifferent. She began to make her way towards the living room before Finn's hand grabbing her wrist stopped her, "I think it'd be a better idea to watch it in one of our rooms. Do you really wanna deal with Costia?" He raised an eyebrow. She pursed her lips, before relenting and letting out a soft sigh.

“I can’t argue with that one,” She admitted. She shook Finn's hand off of her arm as he led her towards the bedrooms, opening to door to his room. She stepped inside; it looked almost the same as her own, but the colour scheme seemed to be a little more monochrome, and with less decorations. They sat shoulder to shoulder against the ornate oak headboard, Finn turning on the television screen and flicking through until he found the replays of the reaping ceremonies.

They caught the broadcast just as it was beginning to loop through again, halfway through the district one reaping. Clarke couldn't help but notice the differences between this reaping and the one in twelve. No one in the crowd looked somber. In fact, they all looked ready to jump at the opportunity to become tributes. The female tribute was called first, but almost as soon as the escort had finished reading the name, four or five girls leaped away from the crowd shouting about volunteering. After almost a full ten minutes, the female tribute was finally decided; an intimidating looking girl named Anya. She wasn't overly huge, but even on the screen, Clarke could tell that the girl was much larger than herself. All lean muscle and cold, calculating stares. Clarke hadn't expected anything less from a career tribute. The same thing happened when the boy's name was called. The tribute was a boy named Roan. Looking at him, she wasn't even entirely sure that he was a teenager. He was well over six feet, bulky and grinning as he strode towards the stage. He looked like he was just itching to get into the arena and fight.

“They’re going to be an issue..” Finn murmured as they shook hands, and Clarke could only nod in agreement.

The reaping in two went much the same way. The female tribute ended up being a girl named Echo. She looked similar to Anya, if not a little more muscular. There was something in the way she grinned as she walked to the stage that sent a chill down Clarke's spine. For some reason, she found herself hoping particularly hard that she wouldn't run into Echo when they got into the arena. The girl looked like she'd kill without a moment of hesitation or remorse. The male tribute was a volunteer too, a boy named Bellamy. As soon as the name was called, she found herself wondering why his surname sounded so familiar, but it was answered by the voiceover commentary bring provided. Apparently he was the older brother of Octavia Blake; the youngest tribute to ever emerge victorious from the Hunger Games, winning at only thirteen years old. He walked to the stage with an air of arrogance and pride that made Clarke scrunch her nose slightly. She made a mental note to watch out for him; no doubt his sister would be giving him all the advice she could to get him to win. 

“They’re definitely going to be popular with the sponsors..” Clarke murmured, more to herself than anything. It was an accepted fact by this point that sponsors were often drawn to the more attractive tributes. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, the district two tributes were both like sex on legs. She saw Finn nod in agreement from the corner of her eye.

District Three's reaping went relatively similar to twelve's. There were no volunteers, and the female tribute was relatively unimpressive. However the male tribute, Ilian, looked like he could be a threat if he knew how to fight properly. He almost seemed to be built like the careers; Clarke made a mental note not to underestimate him. She'd seen far too many tributes fall because they'd made the mistake of lowballing their opponents.

District Four went the same as one and two; the female tribute chosen was an intimidating girl named Luna, the male was a lean boy named John who could only be described as somehow looking apathetic and completely pissed off all at once.

After four, Clarke began to zone out a little. The tributes she had really wanted to see had been the careers. She couldn't help but think that out of all the teenagers being reaped, only one of them would make it home. The thought made a knot form in her stomach, but she forced it back with a slight grimace.

_You can't feel bad for them._

It wasn’t until the District Ten male tribute was called that Clarke really started paying attention again. The boy - Aden - didn't look like he could be more than fourteen. Short and lean, Clarke felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she imagined him having to go up against one of the careers.

District Eleven was just as bad; a girl no more than twelve, Charlotte, was called first. Clarke didn’t catch the boys name, but he didn’t seem anything spectacular. He was tall, a little scrawny. Didn’t look like much of a threat.

And then came District Twelve. Clarke and Finn sat in a tense silence, watching their own names pulled from the balls and called out to the somber crowd. Clarke felt relief wash through her as she watched herself walk to the stage. She remembered the way her entire body had felt like it was made of stone, and was incredibly thankful that she had been able to adequately hide her anxiety. While Finn looked nervous and ready to break down, she looked just as composed as any of the career tributes. Minus the bloodthirsty grins.

When the screen went black, the two sat in silence for another few minutes, mulling over all that they had just seen.

“We should keep track of which ones we think are the biggest threat.." Finn broke the silence, still staring at the black television screen, "We can keep track of them during training." Clarke nodded in agreement; it was best that they figure out as much about their opponents in as short a time as possible.

“Anya and Roan, definitely." Clarke began, watching Finn nod from the corner of her eye, "I think we can count all the careers. They're always deadly."

“Nyko and Ontari seem like they’ll be competition; they aren’t careers, but they looked strong.” Finn said. Clarke had to think for a moment to remember which ones they were.

“District Seven, right?” She asked, and he nodded in return.

For the next few hours, they sat on Finn’s bed and discussed everything they could remember about the other tributes. It was well after midnight when Clarke felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy, and after almost falling asleep against the headboard, she decided it would be best to try and rest.

“I need to get some sleep.. I should go back to my room” Clarke murmured tiredly during a lull in the conversation, standing up and rubbing her eyes with her palms.

“You could always just stay in here.” Finn suggested, and though his tone was innocent enough, it still resulted in an annoyed glare being thrown his way, "Mind out of the gutter, princess. Sleeping, nothing else."

Clarke turned her back on Finn, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she made her way towards the door “I think I’ll pass on that one. Goodnight, Finn,”

“Your choice. Offer’s there” He grinned as she shut the door, and she just shook her head, ignoring the smile that creeped into her face.

As she made her way back to her room and curled beneath her blankets, she couldn’t help but wonder why there was a small part of her that wouldn’t’ve minded taking Finn’s offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all so far who have left kudos, and who have bookmarked this story! I'm glad people are enjoying it so far.
> 
> Please leave comments or kudos if you liked the work! Thanks for reading!
> 
> !!Chapter has been edited!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!Chapter has been Edited!!

Clarke hissed through her clenched teeth as yet another strip of wax was pulled from her leg, painfully ripping the hair from the follicle. Tears pricked at her eyes and before she could reach to wipe them away, Bronx, a tall man with bright yellow hair and light blue tattoos covering his body, dabbed under her eyes with a kleenex.

“Sorry, dear; but we can’t give you to Lexa looking like you do!” His tone was sympathetic and without any malice, but Clarke couldn’t help but take it as an insult. Pursing her lips and staying quiet, Clarke dug her fingers into the cushioned table below her as hot wax dripped onto her other leg. 

“This is the last one, then you can go and shower!”  A woman with bright pink hair and pale blue skin, Cecily, smiled as she gripped the edge of the wax. Clarke gritted her teeth, but managed to hold back any noise, as the wax was pilled with a loud  _r-i-i-p_.

“There we go! That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now you’re all smooth!” Bronx trilled, giving her a bright smile as he helped her to sit up.

 _I’d dare to disagree.._ Clarke thought to herself, looking down at the red and irritated skin of her legs and arms. She was sure that the skin around her eyebrows looked the same way.

“Go rinse off, and rub this on your skin. It’ll help get rid of the discolouration” Cecily handed her a small bottle of bright pink soap that smelled faintly of vanilla, and ushered her towards the shower. Clarke was more than a little self conscious as she dropped off her small towel and stepped into the glass shower, but it faded slightly as she noticed the two were much too preoccupied with their own duties to spare her naked body a glance.

Clarke sighed in relief as the cool water numbed her tingling skin, and as instructed, she washed off with the soap she had been given. To say she was amazed was an understatement; the redness faded from her skin within seconds, like chalk being wiped away from a blackboard. It only took her a few minutes to wash her entire body with the solution, and she stepped out, wrapping her towel back around her body.

“No need for that dear” Cecily waved at the tower, gently pushing her towards a tub of steaming water, “Climb in, and soak for a while. We need to wash your hair and finish your nails. After this, you’ll get to see Lexa!” She spoke excitedly, clapping her hands much like a small child after being told they could have candy. Clarke followed their instructions, and slid into the tub of hot water with a sigh of relief. District twelve would be lucky to get water that was lukewarm, let alone hot, so her body had learned to deal with constant cold baths. She tilted her head back, tracing designs in the water with her free hand, while Cecily buffed and filed her nails one last time and Bronx rubbed a flowery smelling oil into her scalp.

It had been more than three hours since Clarke had arrived in the ‘Remake Center’ and all she still had not met her stylist. First she had been scrubbed down entirely with a gritty gel that left her skin sore, but smooth. After being lathered in a thick moisturizer, they spent at least an hour focusing solely on her face; getting rid of pimples, blackheads, and chittering about how large her pores were. Clarke didn’t exactly know what that meant, but it didn’t sound like a positive thing.

“Done; now you almost look presentable!” Bronx grinned, gently patting her arm as she slipped out of the tub and pulled on a white bathrobe. Clarke gave him a small smile, nodding a little.

“Thank you both” She spoke sweetly. Throughout the ordeal, she had managed to keep her promise to Marcus, and not once did she object to their treatment of her. After the first hour, it hadn't been too hard; it was obvious that the two were really just trying to help her. They seemed too stupid to realize how their attempted compliments could be misunderstood as insults.

“No need to thank us, dear!” Cecily patted her cheek in a comforting way, “You’ll be gorgeous by the time Lexa is finished!” And with that, the two rushed out of the room, presumably to find her stylist.

It was only a few minutes later when the door opened again, and Clarke looked up from her fingernails to see who she assumed was her stylist.

Clarke was more than a little shocked with how  _normal_ Lexa looked. With light brown hair and a dark blue jumpsuit that seemed to be made of pressed down needles, the only truly striking thing about her was her makeup; black eyeshadow with a hint of blue eyeliner. She looked intimidating, to say the least.

“You must be Clarke,” Her voice was quiet, and without the heavy accent that ruined the voices of so many in Polis, “I’m Lexa, your stylist.”

“Pleasure,” Clarke nodded politely. Lexa gestured for her to stand up, silently assessing her body with a stare that almost made Clarke want to cower. Instead, she kept her head high, biting on the inside of her cheek as Lexa walked in circles around her. It reminded her of a large cat, stalking it's prey with a calculating stare.

“Will you drop the robe?” Lexa requested, in a tone that clearly showed it was not a legitimate question. After a moment of hesitation, Clarke did so, slightly uncomfortable with the way Lexa was scrutinizing her.

“Alright, you can put it back on. Follow me, we can talk.” Lexa turned before Clarke had the chance to respond, and began walking towards the door with a purposeful stride. Clarke tugged back on her robe and followed, the tile cool against her bare feet.

Lexa led her into a small room, decorated with plush red couches and large windows looking over the city.

“Sit, you must be hungry.” Lexa gestured to the couches, sitting across from Clarke. She pushed a small, almost unnoticeable button on the coffee table, and after a moment, two panels slid away and their lunch appeared from what seemed like thin air. Steaming lamb in a mint sauce, over a bed of white rice with peas, carrots, and intricately shaped rolls. Clarke was still getting adjusted to Polis, specifically, the abundance of food. In district twelve, a meal like this could have fed herself and her mother for a week, maybe more. Yet here it was, being handed to her on a single plate. She wondered what it could be like to live in a world where all the food you’d ever want was brought with the press of a button.

Clarke almost immediately took a plate and began to eat. She’d been gorging herself over the last few days, figuring it better to at least put on some weight before the games began and she was forced to ration every little bit of food she had the privilege or finding.

“Let’s start with your costume for the parade,” Lexa began, picking at her own plate as Clarke chewed on a large piece of lamb, “Titus, my partner, is your fellow tribute’s stylist, and as usual, our plan is to dress you two in similar costumes. And per tradition, we want them to reflect your district’s industry.”

Clarke internally cringed at that, but didn’t let it show, “So, we’ll be dressed as coal miners..?” Lexa seemed to sense Clarke’s unease, and gave her a slight smile.

“Not exactly.. Almost every district twelve tribute in the past has been dressed in something to that extent. It’s predictable, forgettable. That’s the opposite of what we want for you.”

Clarke was intrigued to say the least, and after swallowing her last mouthful of rice, she set her plate aside and focused on Lexa.

“Well, if you’re not going to be dressing us as miners, what are you planning to do..?” Clarke asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“We wanted to focus on the coal itself, instead of the miners,” Lexa said, and the first thing that flashed through Clarke’s mind was the image of last year’s tributes, naked and covered in black dust. She grimaced at the thought of something like that being her first impression on potential sponsors.

“Please tell me it won’t be something like last year..” Clarke bit her lip, and she could’ve sworn Lexa almost laughed at her reaction.

“Not at all, actually,” Clarke visibly relaxed at that, “As I said; we’re focusing on the coal. And what do you do with coal? You burn it.” Lexa spoke, and Clarke’s eyes widened slightly, “You don’t have an aversion to fire, do you?”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s almost an hour later when Clarke is put back in the hands of Bronx and Cecily. She sat, as still as possible, for an hour and a half as they pinned her hair back into an intricately braided half-up, half-down hairstyle. She watches from the corner or her eye as Bronx curled any strands that were outside of the main braid. As he sprayed her head with hairspray, she felt Cecily finishing up her makeup.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart. This’ll keep it from smudging” She says, and Clarke obeys, feeling a light mist settle over her face.

“Alright, now for your outfit! Lexa is going to be meeting you down by your carriage to put the finishing touches on.” Clarke opened her eyes and for a split second, she’s stunned by what she sees in the mirror before her. Her lips are blood red, her eye makeup looking extremely similar to Lexa’s, accented by red and orange eyeliner instead of blue. She looks so different, but still, she looks like Clarke.

“Thank you two, so much” Clarke smiles, standing up. Bronx and Cecily both gush over her for a moment, kissing her lightly on both cheeks, before they hand her the outfit.

“You look stunning, darling. No one will be able to forget you!” Bronx complimented, before they rushed from the room. With a small smile, Clarke dropped her robe and reached for the black leather jumpsuit.

It looked more like battle armour than anything once Clarke had slipped it on, and she couldn’t help but admire the way it clung to her body. She didn't have many curves, but the outfit clung to what she did have perfectly. Lexa was one hell of a stylist, there was no doubt about it.

Clarke pinned the flowing red cape to her back before she heard a soft knock on the door. She turned around just as Marcus stepped in, a slight smile on his face as he looked at her.

“Let’s go, sweetheart. Finn already went down with his stylist.” Marcus led her to the elevator with a hand between her shoulder blades. They spend the ride down in a comfortable silence, Clarke's heartbeat pounding in her ears as they stepped into the loading area and into the sight of the other tributes. She seemed to be the last tribute to arrive, and she shoved back her anxiety as she watched eyes flick towards her as she walked towards her carriage. As much as she wanted to cower in under the stares of her fellow tributes, their stylists, and their mentors, she kept her chin high until she stopped beside the coal black horses that would be leading their chariot.

"Nice look, princess," Even with his teasing smile, Clarke sensed that Finn's words were entirely genuine. She returned the smile and ignored the heat that crept up the back of her neck.

"Thanks, you too," She too was being entirely sincere with her compliment. Finn looked nothing short of intimidating in his outfit, and she momentarily took back what she had thought earlier about him being too nice to pull off any sort of 'tough' look. Momentarily she allowed herself to think he looked relatively attractive, but she shoved the thought away the second it entered her mind. Finn shot her a grin at the compliment, before he turned to speak to his stylist.

Clarke took the couple minutes they had before they needed to load into the chariot to examine the rest of the tributes.

As she expected, District One's stylist had gone with a flashy outfit. One's main export was Luxury; Roan and Anya looked as if their outfits had been coated in gold, jewels glinting with every move they made even in the dull light of the loading area. On their heads stood intricate crowns, almost exact copies of the crowns that victors were rewarded when they won the games. She was sure that the design choice hadn't been coincidence.

District Two was dressed in a fashionable rendition of what looked to be gladiator armour. It wasn't an overly flashy or amazing outfit, but the way that Bellamy and Echo wore it was what made them stand out. They looked like nothing short of two deities, a warrior god and goddess, both in their own right. They looked like they belonged in those ancient murals found in what used to be known as Greece, the ones that her father had once shown her in a book he'd found in the market. Just as she was about to turn away, Clarke found herself almost rooted to the spot when her eyes locked with a pair of dark brown ones. She kept her face blank as Bellamy stared back at her. There was something behind his eyes she couldn't place right away, but before she had the chance to give it much thought, she felt a second pair of eyes staring at her with what could only be described as hatred. Her eyes flicked over to the district two female. After a moment of trying to match the other girl's gaze she turned her back on the rest of the tributes, ignoring the anxiety that prickled over her skin as she felt Echo's gaze practically boring a hold in the back of her head.

So much for staying away from Echo. The girl seemed to have developed a vendetta against her in a mere few moments. The thought sent chills down her spine. She focused her thoughts on something else, seeing from the corner of her eye as the district one, two, and three tributes were ushered into their chariots. The districts departed in ascending order, meaning Clarke and Finn would be the last chariot to leave the area. 

Clarke's eyes widened slightly as she watched Titus pull what looked to be an unlit torch from thin air. Suddenly a bright flame seemed to burst from the end with no ignition, making both her and Finn squint at the sudden light.

"Remember when I asked if you had an aversion to fire?" Lexa raised an eyebrow, and Clarke glanced between her and Titus in shock, "This is why. We're going to be lighting your capes." Before either of them could open their mouths to argue, Titus stepped forward.

"It's a synthetic fire and Lexa and I developed. It won't burn your outfits, and it won't burn you. All you'll feel is a slight warmth. I'll be lighting your capes once you're on the chariot." He spoke much too calmly for a man informing them that he would be lighting them on fire. Clarke looked back to Lexa, only to be met with a look that she could only interpret as  _Trust me._

Clarke very much hoped that deciding to do so wouldn't end badly for her. As District Seven's chariot departed, Finn climbed into the chariot, holding out a hand to help her up. After a moment of hesitation she took it, the warmth of his hand calming her slightly as she was pulled up. She forced herself to let go once she was safely on the chariot.

Marcus moved to stand beside them, “Remember; smiles.” The two nodded as Titus moved behind the chariot.

“I’m lighting it now,” Titus spoke just as district Eleven’s chariot departed. Clarke could see the glow from her cape from the corner of her eyes, and as the flames engulfed the fabric, she waited for the scalding sensation. But it never came; it was more of a flickering warmth. She and Finn shared a nervous grin as their jet black horses began moving forward, and Clarke felt Finn’s hand reach to grab her own. once more.

“Finn, what are yo-” He cut her off before she could finish.

“It’ll look better for the cameras” He gave her a playful grin. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, but she looked forward, lacing their fingers together as they were revealed to the citizens of Polis for the first time.

The cheers were deafening as their chariot appeared. Clarke remembered Marcus’ words, and she gave a bright smile as she clutched at Finn’s hand. He gave her a comforting squeeze in return, and the two of them waved to the citizens, occasionally catching flowers or blowing kisses. The cheers only got louder when Finn moved to tug her arm up, proudly showing their hands clasped together to the cameras. Clarke wasn't entirely sure what he was doing.

Whatever it was, the crowd seemed to eat it up. With every other pair of tributes no less than six inches apart and barely looking at each other, their fingers laced together seemed almost like an act of rebellion. A way to show that they wouldn't even let something as devastating as the games come between them.

She caught sight of them on one of the large screens, had to stop herself from gaping as how awe inspiring they looked. Clarke knew they were getting more than their fair share of screen time; even as their hands dropped and their chariot stopped in the city circle, Clarke could still see her blonde hair on the screen out of the corner of her eye. She could feel the glares of the other tributes, but ignored them, turning to give Finn a small smile.

It wasn’t until President Wallace stood, taking his spot at the podium and clearing his throat, that the cameras were pulled away from the district twelve chariot. The music blaring through the square stopped with a flourish, and everyone waited in silence for the president's address.

Dante Wallace, a pale, thin man with white hair and a pale rose tucked into his suit pocket, welcomed the tributes to the capital and gave a speech on the importance of the Hunger Games that Clarke allowed herself to tune out. Even as the president spoke, Clarke watched the screens occasionally flick to their chariot. As the sun set and the square succumbed to the evening darkness, they somehow became even more noticeable, their flaming capes acting like some sort of beacon.

As the national anthem played and the Chariots made their way out of the city circle, the cameras went over every district's chariot one last time, but Clarke caught sight of the monitor showing them much longer than need be, following them right up until they were completely out of sight.

The second the chariot came to a halt, Lexa and Titus extinguished their capes. Clarke and Finn’s hands were still clasped tightly, palms pressed flat together as they hopped from the chariot and were congratulated by their prep teams and stylists, along with Marcus and Costia. For the second time that night Clarke felt an angry gaze burning holes in her skull, and momentarily turned away from the chatter to look at the district two chariot. She watched as Echo stepped off, practically seething, and nausea twists in her gut. But for a moment she allows herself to glance over at the male tribute, finding him watching her with what seemed like curiosity.

She was unsure why, but Clarke found it difficult to pull her gaze away.

 

* * *

 

 

“Nice job, you two” Marcus clapped them both on the shoulder as they stepped into the elevator, “If that doesn’t get you sponsors, I don’t know what will.” As they make their way up to the penthouse, Costia chitters on about using her 'connections' to get them sponsors. It seems like the first genuine conversation she's ever had with the two of them.

"Mark my words, you two will be the most popular tributes! After the parade, I'll barely have to do anything," She waved her hands as she spoke, and the two tributes shared an amused look.

It wasn't until they stepped out of the elevator and into the penthouse that they realized that neither of them had made any move to pull their hands away. 

__

* * *

 

Dinner passed quickly, with both Finn and Clarke stuffing themselves as much as possible before everyone made their way towards their individual bedrooms.

Clarke didn't bother showering, not seeing any point after having spent so long this afternoon being cleaned and primped. She does wash her face though, watching as the makeup residue is washed down the sink drain. After a couple moments of staring at herself in the mirror, she decided to leave her hair the way it was. Clarke knew it was pointless; the style would be ruined when she settled into bed anyways. But she couldn't force herself to destroy something so beautiful.

She peeled off her costume, folding it along with the cape and setting it on the plush chair in the corner of the room. She changed into the first pair of what looked like pajamas that she could find; a white tank top and a pair of shorts made out of what she was almost sure was silk. It was nearing midnight when Clarke finally climbed into bed, curling up beneath the blankets and staring out over the silhouette of Polis, bright against the night sky. No matter how long she laid there, her eyelids just didn't seem to want to grow heavy. Her body didn't seem to want to let her exhaustion overtake it. So Clarke laid there in silence, allowing herself to be pulled into her own thoughts as she tried to chase the sleep that seemed to want to do nothing but elude her.

Her thoughts drifted towards Finn. She thought of the feeling of his hand in hers, palms pressed together as the pad of his thumb rubbed comforting circles into the back of her hand. Momentarily her fingers tangled in the sheets, seeming to ache for that feeling of warmth again.

Clarke tugged herself away from that train of thought the moment she realized that it had started. She and Finn were nothing but fellow tributes, possibly allies. They weren't going to - they  _couldn't_ \- let themselves become anything more.

As she forced her mind away from thoughts of Finn, it was drawn to thoughts of the games instead. Clarke couldn’t help but wonder what kind of arena they’d be put into; would it be an arctic wasteland, like the games the year before last? Clarke shook her head. That year, more tributes died from freezing to death than from fights. The people of Polis wanted bloodshed.

Maybe it would be a jungle, like the second quarter quell, full of muttations ready to maul tributes to near death, before leaving them for someone else to finish off. Her thoughts shifted from the arena, to the tributes. As the image of Echo’s seething glare from the tribute parade flashed through her mind, Clarke shivered. It terrified Clarke to think that she had managed to make such a deadly enemy so early.

She sat up moments later, unable to handle the deafening silence of her room that left her with nothing but her own thoughts. Clarke slowly creeped out of her room, the silence broken only by her soft footsteps on the wooden floor. Letting out an almost silent sigh, Clarke was relieved when she saw the penthouse was dark. Everyone else was in bed, she assumed.

She tiptoed her way over to the large window, sitting on the floor and leaning her forehead against the cool glass. It seemed to pull her away from her thoughts and back to the present, but it didn't last long. Desperate for something to think about other than the games or Finn, her mind drifted towards thoughts of district twelve.

She wondered about her mother; would she be at home, staring blankly at the wall as she waited to wake up and learn that it had all been a dream? Or would she be burying herself in her work as a healer, just as she had when Jake Griffin died, trying to find anything to distract her from the silence in their home? Would she sit, pushing her dinner around her plate because she couldn’t stand the sight of the empty seat across the table?

What about Wells? Would he lay awake at night, wondering about Clarke’s well being? Would be withdraw from his father, just as he had when his mother died, and lock himself in his room? Would he sit alone at their regular lunch table, staring blankly ahead and pretending that the seat beside him was filled, and that the silence around him was being broken by her laughter?

Clarke felt her throat begin to close as she thought of home, barely holding back the tears that welled up in her eyes. She thought of the market, of the forest. Of the hole in the fence her and Wells would climb through when the electricity was off. She thought of the meadow filled with buttercups, where she would sit for hours, sketching in charcoal on whatever paper she could get her hands on. She wished with every bit of her soul that she could close her eyes and open them again to the familiar sight of her bedroom ceiling. She wished that she could wake up to find it had all been nothing more than a nightmare.

“Couldn’t sleep?”  
  
Clarke jumped as she heard the voice, whipping her head around to see Finn, leaning against the wall in a t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, smiling softly at her. She couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been there. She only responded with a shake of her head, pulling her knees to her chest and focusing back on the sight of Polis through the window as Finn sat beside her. He didn't seem interested in the view, his back against the window and his eyes focused on Clarke.

“I’m guessing you couldn’t either?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it was clear in the silence of the penthouse. She watched as Finn shook his head a little.

“Nope..” His eyes studied her face for a minute or so. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before reaching forward, placing a hand on her knee, "You alright, princess?

Clarke hesitated a moment, entirely ready to lie. She had already gotten too close to Finn; the last thing she needed was to turn and bear her emotions to him.

“Yea, I..” Clarke couldn’t get the words out, and instead, she just allowed her shoulders to drop in defeat, “No. No, I’m not.” She admitted, wiping away her unshed tears with the hell of her hand.

Finn didn’t speak; he moved closer, putting her leg’s in his lap and pulling her into his arms. He moved slowly, giving Clarke the chance to shove him away if she really wanted to. Clarke’s body tensed, but she didn't try to push him away. Instead she allowed herself to relax in his embrace, face buried in the crook of his neck to hide the tears that leaked out of the corners of her eyes.

Clarke pulled away once she had calmed down, rubbing her eyes again. She felt Finn's arms move away from her waist, and for a moment she allowed herself to miss the comfort the embrace had brought her. After a moment she felt him shift, and pulled her hands away from her face to see him standing, holding a hand out to help her up.

“C’mon. There’s something I wanna show you,” He shot her a smile. Clarke hesitated, glancing between his hand and his face a couple times.

 _What do you have to lose?_ She thought to herself, with a slight smile of her own, she took Finn's outstretched hand, allowing him to help her up. He didn’t let go of her hand once she had stood, instead leading her towards the elevator.

“Finn, we’re not supposed to go anywhere..” Clarke murmured as he clicked the button. She wasn’t even sure where they would go, if they could. There was only the training area, and the district’s residences.As tributes, they weren't allowed out of the training centre building. Finn looked over his shoulder, shooting her a familiar grin.

“Bend the rules a bit for once, Princess.” He murmured, and as the elevator doors opened, he gently tugged her inside. He was in the way, so she didn’t see what button he pressed. But after a moment, the elevator shot up. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before realization set in.

“Finn, I don’t think we’re supposed to be going to the roof,” She whispered, biting the inside of her cheek. She didn't even know that the roof was accessible in the first place.

“If we weren’t allowed up here, the elevator wouldn’t go to it.” He pointed out, and Clarke could only huff softly. All her inhibition dissipated once the elevator doors opened.

It was more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen. Stretched across over half of the roof was a beautifully intricate garden, filled with what seemed like hundreds of different types of flowers. Dim lanterns lit the flowerbeds, and brightly coloured butterflies flitted from plant to plant. She let go of Finn's hand and stepped out of the elevator, lips parted in awe.

“It’s beautiful..” She breathed out, and Finn stepped out beside her, leaning down to admire a gardenia bush. Plucking one of the flowers, he moved to tuck it behind Clarke's ear, still grinning.

“Glad you like it” Before Clarke could register what Finn had just done, he took her hand once more, leading her through the garden and towards the edge of the roof. Letting go, he sat down, legs dangling. She stayed where she was for a minute or so before Finn turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow, "You gonna sit down, princess?"

“How do I know you didn’t bring me up here just to push me off the roof?” She forced herself to sound serious, but the glint of amusement behind her eyes gave her away. This drew a laugh from the boy, one that made Clarke’s stomach flutter.

“Pretty smart. But I can’t. There’s a forcefield; stops us from trying to end it before we get to the arena.” He gestured forward. Clarke noticed the odd, shimmery quality of the air surrounding the roof, and nodded a bit. It made sense; she was sure that it would complicate things if a tribute killed themselves while they were still in Polis.

“Fair enough” She smiled, sitting down shoulder to shoulder with Finn. They stared out over the city for a couple minutes. For once, Finn was the one to break the silence.

“The boy you walked to the reaping with; he’s the Mayor’s son, right?” Finn asked, turning to look at Clarke as she continued to stare out at the lights of Polis. She couldn’t help but wonder why he had noticed them walking, but she could only assume he had walked behind them, possibly even followed after Wells to the eighteen year olds’ section. Clarke nodded a bit.

“Yea.. He and I met when we were young, just after my father..” Clarke trailed off “Just after my father died. I was given a medal, and we’ve been best friends since.”

Thinking off Wells and her father just made the lump in her throat rise up again. Finn noticed, and he didn’t push the subject; he just wrapped an arm around Clarke’s waist, pulling her a little closer. She didn’t move away; didn't even find that she wanted to.

“You used to do a lot of art in twelve, right?” He asked, trying to change the subject as soon as possible. Clarke’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“How’d you know that..?” She murmured; she could’ve sworn she saw his cheeks go pink.

“I’d see you in the market sometimes. Buying paper or charcoal… Or I’d sometimes see you at school, sketching random things.” He admitted, almost seeming a little sheepish. Clarke couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Yea, I did.. My father was the one who taught me to draw. I’d always sneak out when the fence’s power was down; there was this gorgeous meadow on top of a cliff, full of flowers. I’d spend hours just.. Drawing,” She murmured, turning her head to look at him.

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.. I can see why you’d want to draw that.” He murmured. Clarke leaned her head on Finn’s shoulder as they continued to talk. They talked about home, about themselves. They talked about everything and anything they could think of.

She learned his favourite colour; green, because it reminded him of the forest. He learned that her mother was a healer, which was the reason she had so much knowledge of plants. She learned that his mother had taught him how to hunt. He leaned that she used to read over and revise all of the Mayor's speeches before he presented them.

They talked until Clarke could see the orange glow of the sun coming up over the horizon.

“We should go back.. Try and get at least a little bit of sleep. Training starts today anyways..” Clarke murmured, but she didn’t make an attempt to get up. Finn nodded a bit, and after a moment's hesitation, he stood, pulling her up with him.

Clarke hadn't noticed how numb her legs had gone until she tried to stand on them.

She fell forward, Finn just barely managing to clumsily catch her by her waist. Her arms went around his neck to support herself, and she half expected him to come out with a smartass quip about her lack of balance. But they stood, silent, for what seemed like hours. Their faces were inches apart, and neither one of them made any attempt to move away.

After a couple more seconds of staring at each other, with the sunset’s glow illuminating both of their faces, Finn cupped Clarke’s cheek and closed the space between their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gardenia- a flower representing untold love; conveys a meaning of 'you're lovely' to the receiver.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!Chapter has been Edited!!

Clarke barely got any sleep that night. After drifting in and out of consciousness for hours she finally gave up on attempting to get any more rest, making her way into the bathroom. She stood in front of the mirror, one hand gripping the edge of the counter top as the pads of her fingers drifted across her bottom lip. For a moment she allowed herself to remember the feeling of Finn's lips pressed against her own, warm and soft. They kiss had only lasted a couple seconds before she'd tugged herself away as if she'd been burned by the contact, but that short moment seemed to be burned into her memory.

Clarke forcibly shook the thoughts away, fingers reaching back to clumsily remove the hairstyle from the tributes parade. It was one kiss, it meant nothing. The pounding of her heart every time she thought of it begged to differ, but she refused to believe that she had any sort of attraction to Finn.

 _It was a mistake.._ She thought to herself. There could never be anything romantic between them, not now. Maybe if they had met sooner. Maybe if they were back in district twelve. Maybe if their names had never been drawn in the reaping. Maybe, maybe, maybe. The maybes and what ifs didn't matter now; their situation was what it was, it couldn't be changed now.

 _Mistake. Mistake. It meant nothing, it was a mistake._ She used the words to drown out her thoughts, repeating them over and over in her mind as if she was trying to brand them into her brain. She brushed her teeth with much more aggression than what was necessary, glaring at her own reflection as she spit into the sink and rinsed her mouth. 

Clarke turned her back to the mirror and stepped out of the bathroom, eyes flicking to the slightly crumpled gardenia that still laid against her pillow. She brushed it away, leaving it on the floor as she dug through her drawers in search of training clothes. She walked out of her room ten minutes later in stretchy back tights and a white t-shirt, refusing to even glance at Finn as she took the seat next to him. She could feel him staring at her, a mix of confusion and hurt. Clarke didn't return the glance, poking at her eggs. From the corner of her eye she caught him opening his mouth to speak, but Marcus sitting down interrupted whatever he was about to say. As guilty as she felt, a wave of relief washed through her at the distraction.

“As soon as you two are done eating, take the elevator down to the training area. Just remember what I said; stay away from what you’re good at, save it for the gamemakers. And don’t make any enemies.” Marcus' tone was humorous, but there was truth behind his words. The image of Echo from the tribute parade flashed through her mind.

_Seems a little too late for that.._

They both finished their food around the same time, bidding goodbye to Marcus and Costia as they stepped into the elevator. Clarke wasn't entirely sure what they did when the tributes trained. She could only assume it had something to do with getting them sponsorships. When they were inside, Clarke pressed the button for the training area, still completely ignoring Finn's eyes boring holes into the back of her head.

“Clarke..” Finn spoke just as the elevator shot down, and she tried to pretend that the lurch in her stomach could just be attributed to the sudden movement. Before he could continue, she interrupted, keeping her eyes forward.

“We're not doing this, Finn," She murmured, refusing to even glance in his direction, "We have just over a week. After that, we're being thrown into an arena with twenty-two other kids. One, if not both, of us is going to die in there. What happened last night was a mistake, and it won't be happening again."

Clarke's tone was cold, but it didn't seem to do anything but spurr Finn on. Suddenly she felt herself being pulled by her arm, and she was pressed flush against Finn's chest. Eyes wide, she couldn't do more than stare in shock as he leaned down, their faces only a couple inches apart.

“Last night was a mistake? Does this - _us-_ feel like a mistake to you?” He murmured. Clarke could hear the rushing of her blood in her ears. Finn leaned closer, but he didn't close the space. He stopped, giving her the opportunity to pull away, to stop him, to snap at him. He gave her the chance. But no matter how much the rational part of her brain told her to, she couldn't make herself take it.

The ding of the elevator was enough to pull her back to reality, and she finally shoved Finn away just as the doors were opening.

"There is no us, Finn," With that she turned, ignoring the blazing heat in her cheeks as she joined the other tributes, standing in a semicircle around the head trainer. Clarke listened intently, thankful for the distraction from her own thoughts, as the woman began to speak. She was short, dark skinned with tattoos swirling along her skin and close cropped hair. Even with her stature she was obviously confident in her position as an authority figure, and found no issue in making even the rowdier tributes pay attention to what she said.

"My name is Indra," She introduced, gaze flicking along the line or tributes, "In mere weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead. One of you will be crowned the victor. Who that victor is will depend on how you spend your next week in this training center. Let me begin with this; there will be no fighting with your fellow tributes. There'll be more than enough time for that in the arena. Trainers will be available for sparring. There are over a dozen stations here for you to use. Heed my advice here; do not ignore the survival stations. Everyone here is itching to grab a weapon, but many of you will end up dying of natural causes. Exposure can kill just as easily as a knife. Use your time in here wisely," With that she turned her back on the tributes and left them to their own devices. The career tributes immediately made their way towards the fighting stations. Clarke stayed in her position, eyes scanning the training center to take in her options.

 _Stay away from what you’re good at, hone your combat skills_ Clarke thought to herself,chewing on the inside of her lip

“What first, Princess?” Finn stepped beside her, giving her a half grin as if the incident in the elevator hadn't happened. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she made her way towards archery; it wasn't as crowded as some of the other combat stations, and honing her skills in long distance weaponry would help her out a great deal in the arena. The farther she could be away from an opponent, the better. She clenched her jaw slightly as she heard Finn's footsteps follow after her.

“Why’re you following me, Finn? You know how to use a bow already, go work on your survival skills or something.” She muttered, picking up the first bow she saw and a sheath of arrows.

“Marcus told us to help each other. I’ll help you with combat, you help me with survival” He suggested. As much as Clarke would prefer to avoid him at this moment, Finn had a point. She’d never even held a bow before, let alone shot one.

“Fine, then show me how to shoot.” Clarke dumped the bow and sheath into Finn’s hands, crossing her arms as he watched him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the careers, obviously trying to intimidate the rest of them, handling the deadliest weapons in the room with ease. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine, especially as she watched Echo twirl a butterfly knife between her fingers.

She looked away from the group, turning her attention to Finn as he began to explain the fundamentals of shooting. How to hold the bow, how to position an arrow, how to hold your feet, how to stand. Clarke was thankful for the fact that she'd always been a quick learner. After a couple tries she managed to get the stance down, and Finn dumped the sheath of arrows into her arms.

“Now, try shooting,” Finn stood back and watched as she fumbled with an arrow. She checked her technique before pulling back the string. With a soft  _twang_ she let the arrow fly--

Only to miss the target by a good two feet.

She turned, glaring at Finn as she heard his laughter, “Shut up,” She huffed, more than a little annoyed by his continual chuckling, and moved to grab another arrow.

“It’s gonna take you a while; don’t expect to get it on the first few tries” Finn lightly knocked her shoulder, grabbing his own bow as he began to shoot at the target beside her.

It took her a whole two sheaths of arrows to even hit the target at all; it took another three for her to hit the bullseye. She turned to grin smugly at Finn, who smiled in return.

“Nice shot, princess.” He patted her back as they put their bows away. They parted ways after that; Finn went towards the survival skills, while Clarke stayed with the combat stations.

She made her way towards hand to hand combat first. She could hear the mocking and the laughter coming from the careers at the nearby stations as she attempted to fight the trainer, who continually yelled instructions to her as they sparred. By the time she even managed to knock him off his feet, she'd gained a nice bruise on her left cheek and she could only assume there were more blooming beneath her clothing.

_If I can’t even knock down a trainer, I’ll have no chance against the careers_

It’s that thought that spurred Clarke to stay at the hand to hand combat station for the next few hours, improving at a surprisingly steady pace. By the time lunch rolled around, she'd taken a substantial beating, one she was sure she'd feel the next day. But she'd also managed to consistently knock down the trainer, who was at least double her size. It wasn't the level she wanted to be at, but it was a start. It was the first day of training, she still had another six to go.

Clarke stepped into the cafeteria-like room, glancing around as she grabs her food. On one side, the careers had pushed together three tables, talking loudly. Most of the other tributes, however, were either sitting alone, or with one or two others. No one seemed to keen to make any new friends.

“You look like shit,” Was the first thing out of Finn's mouth as she took the seat across from him, taking a bite out of her sandwich with a little too much aggression.

“You flatter me, Collins,” She spoke around a mouthful of food, rolling her eyes as she heard his laughter.

“I’m joking, princess. You still look good," Clarke ignored the way that the simple phrase made her heart flutter, "But I doubt Lexa's gonna be too happy with all those bruises." She just shrugs, taking a small sip of the bottled water she'd been given.

“I’m sure they’ve got some sort of fix for them. If they can put a tribute’s intestines back in after they’ve won, I’m sure a bruise is nothing,” She attempted a joke, and Finn cracked a smile, leaning back in his chair.

“Fair enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke was halfway through the ropes course when she felt a pair of eyes on her from the career pack. Momentarily distracted by the thought that it could be Echo again, her hand just barely misses the next rung, and she falls to her hands and knees on the mat with a thud. Gritting her teeth at the pain, she moved to stand, eyes flicking over to the crowd of tributes by the knife throwing station. She's surprised when it isn't Echo, but Bellamy she finds staring at her, but he turns away the moment their eyes meet. Clarke stared after him curiously for a few moments, before making her way back to the beginning of the ropes course.

By the end of the day, Clarke was more sore than she'd been in her entire life. Overshadowing her pain, however, was her pride at what she'd managed to accomplish; she'd learned how to use a bow with semi-decent accuracy, and improved exponentially in hand to hand combat. It was more than she'd honestly expected to achieve in all of training, let alone on the first day. But she knew that it wouldn't even be enough to get her through the initial bloodbath, let alone the entirety of the games.

All twenty four tributes piled into the glass elevator as training finished, and Clarke found herself squished between Roan and Finn as it shot upwards. There was no talking as the elevator made its way from floor to floor, not even from the careers. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. When the elevator doors open up for the eleventh time, Charlotte and the male from district eleven stepped out, leaving Clarke and Finn alone. There's a moment of silence between them, a moment Clarke hopes will last until they arrive at the penthouse, but she isn't that lucky.

“Listen, Clarke..” Finn broke the silence, but just as she opened her mouth to cut him off, he put a hand up to stop her “I’m sorry about this morning, that’s all I wanted to say.”

Clarke stayed silent for a moment, before nodding slightly “It’s okay, Finn.” She assured softly. It takes a lot of self control for her not to return the soft smile he shoots her.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke hadn’t even had the chance to sit down at the table the next morning before Marcus began to speak.

“As you both know, the interviews are going to be the day after tomorrow. Each tribute is going to have an allotted five minutes; in that time, you have to make all of Polis fall in love with you,” Marcus spoke as they began to pick at their food.

“No pressure or anything,” Finn remarked sarcastically, and Clarke couldn't help the laugh that bubbled from her throat.

“That may be a bit of a hyperbole, but still. You need to impress. Tomorrow you two have no training, so you’ll each spend a couple hours with me and Costia to prepare.” Marcus leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against his glass of water. So far he'd kept good on his promise of laying off the alcohol, but it was obviously taking a bit of a toll on him.

“I’d rather just be thrown in the arena now,” Clarke joked, unable to hold back her laughter as Finn choked on his orange juice. Marcus rolled his eyes, but she catches him smiling just a little. Before Marcus can comment, Costia stepped into the dining room with her hands on her hips.

“You two are already late for training!” She scolded, ushering them from their seats like an old lady trying to shoo away a hoard of birds. Finn just barely managed to grab two muffins off the table before they were shoved into the elevator. They both laughed a bit, leaning against the elevator’s wall as they ate their muffins. All of the other tributes are already training when they arrive, and Clarke catches Indra shooting them a glare as they step in late.

“I’m gonna get to a station before she decides to come over and kick my ass,” Finn muttered, stuffing the rest of the muffin in his mouth as he walked towards the rope course. Clarke can’t help but laugh, finishing off her own muffin as she follows, tossing the wrapper in the garbage can near the elevator doors. As her and Finn race to see who can finish the course first, Clarke is almost able to forget her inhibitions about getting close to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Finn and Clarke split up after lunch, Clarke drifting towards the camouflage station as Finn makes his way over to the spears. The station is completely empty, and she relishes in the peaceful silence around her as she blends the paint into her leg, making it look like impressively like the trunk of one of the nearby trees. She knew it wasn't a very good idea to be spending her time on something she'd long ago become incredibly good at, but the pull towards the supplies had been too strong. She promised herself she'd go directly to a combat station once she was finished.

“Not bad, princess,” Clarke couldn't help but jump at the voice, her attention having been solely focused on the design she was painting onto her leg. Much to her surprise, when she glances up, it isn't Finn standing above her, looking at her leg with a mildly impressed expression.

It’s the boy from district two.

“My name is not princess.” Clarke muttered, turning her attention back to her leg as she dabbed her fingers in the brown paint. She watched from the corner of her eye as he grabbed one of the chairs and sat on it backwards, leaning his chin on the back of it with an infuriating smirk. It was practically dripping in arrogance, and Clarke wanted nothing more than to wipe it from his face.

“Really? Might wanna tell that to your boyfriend over there,” He gestured towards Finn, who was tossing spears with deadly accuracy on the other side of the room. Clarke pressed her lips into a thin line, setting the pot of paint down on the table with a loud thud.

“Finn is _not_ my boyfriend,” She spoke coolly, standing up and making her way towards the tree. She leaned over slightly so she could see the results properly, happy with how well the paint blended with the bark. She made her way towards one of the hoses to wash off her leg, gritting her teeth as she heard him stand and follow after her.

“Whatever you say, Princess.” He leaned against one of the artificial trees, studying her with that same ridiculous smirk on his face as she washed away the paint.

Clarke didn’t grace him with a response, drying off her leg before beginning to walk away. She figured he’d just go back to the group of careers. She wasn’t even sure why he had come over to the station in the first place. It obviously hadn’t been to do camouflage.

But instead, she heard his footsteps behind her once more as she made her way towards the target area. Letting out a huff of air through her nose, she grabbed a handful of knives, situating herself in front of the targets and beginning to throw. Her aim wasn't amazing, but it was definitely improving.

“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, that means the position's open?" He raised an eyebrow, and Clarke felt the heat creeping up the back of her neck at the implications of the statement. Without waiting for a response, Bellamy turned and made his way back to the careers. The next knife she threw missed the target by about three feet, and she ignored the laughter she heard coming from the other side of the training center.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke was still tense as she and the other tributes piled into the elevator once more. She was sandwiched between Echo and the district one female, Anya, this time. She kept her gaze trained on the back of Finn’s head, entirely ignoring the pair of dark eyes she knew was focused on her.

She had no idea why it had gotten to her so much, those stupid comments and smirks that he continued to throw her way. She knew a good chunk of it was the arrogance; the _too good for this_ attitude he paraded around with. Clarke'd always hated people like that, who had so much confidence with absolutely no base. Couple that with his infuriating attractiveness, and it was not a good combination. It was one that did nothing but piss her off even more. He sauntered around like he expected every girl to fall at his feet, and Clarke wouldn’t be entirely shocked if that had been the treatment he had received back in District Two.

She only allowed herself to relax when it was just her and Finn inside the elevator/

“What was that?” Finn asked, the second the doors closed behind the District Eleven tributes.

“What was what?” Clarke asked, trying to relax as she attempted to avoid Finn's question.

“You know what. That thing with the guy from District Two; you looked like you were about to throw a knife at him instead of the target,” Finn let out a laugh, and as much as she tried to hold it back, the corners of Clarke’s mouth pulled up into a smile.

“I was close to it.. It was just some stupid comment he made. He’s an arrogant bastard, all of the careers are” The last thing she wanted to do was elaborate on what exactly Bellamy had said, and she was thankful when Finn accepted her response with a nod of agreement.

It was only her, Finn, and Marcus at dinner that night. Their mentor explained that Costia was out at some party which she had insisted would be chock-full of sponsors for them. So the three of them ate in comfortable silence.

Marcus was the first to excuse himself from the table, making his way to his bedroom to presumably spend the rest of the evening relaxing. Finn and Clarke both finished their food around the same time, but as Clarke stepped towards her room, she felt Finn's hand clamp around her wrist.

“Before you go to your room, I’ve got something I wanna show you,” He shot her a grin, a glint of mischief behind his eyes. She raised one eyebrow, smiling in return as she allowed herself to be pulled towards the elevator, admittedly a little intrigued by his sudden bout of secrecy.

“Finn Collins, what did you do?” She asked, a playful note in her voice. He only shot her a wink as they stepped into the elevator, and she watched as he pressed the button for the roof.

They stood in silence, and once the doors opened, he led her to a large expanse of blank concrete just beside the large garden. She turned to him, her eyebrows raised an more than a little confusion clouding her thoughts.

“What am I supposed to be looking for?” She asked, laughing a bit.

“This,” Finn reached into his pocket, pulling out a large chunk of charcoal. She couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he held it out, “Not the best art material, but I figured it’d do for now.”

“Where’d you even get it?” She asked as she took it from his hands, an awed grin on her face.

“I wouldn’t tell you that, now would I? Then you’d just get it yourself!” He joked, and she just laughed as she knelt down. It had only been a few days since she’d last drawn properly, but it felt like it had been ages.

“Sit down on the edge of the roof” Clarke ordered, looking up at Finn with a small smile. He raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told.

“Why exactly am I sitting here? You planning to push me off?” He joked, and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m drawing you, dumbass” Clarke smiled a bit as she began to drag the charcoal against the rough concrete.

“I’m honoured, Princess” Finn put a hand over his heart, and Clarke just giggled a bit

“Don’t make me rethink pushing you off, Collins.”

“Yes ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was past midnight when Clarke finally got to bed, after another night of spending hours on the roof with Finn for no reason besides the fact that she  _wanted to_. Thankfully this time, nothing happened that made her lose any sleep or stress over what was happening, and Clarke allowed herself to succumb to the pull of sleep the second her eyes closed.

It seemed like only minutes later when she was pulled out of sleep by Costia's shrill voice and cold air attacking her exposed skin. Clarke let out a groan as the escort ripped away her only source of warmth, followed by a surprised yelp as she felt herself be tugged out of bed.

“Come on, come on! Interviews are tomorrow, we have a _lot_ to work on with your etiquette!” She sings, pulling a dishevelled Clarke from her room.

“Can I at least get breakfast first?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

“It’s on the coffee table,” Costia practically shoved her onto the couch, and immediately began rambling as Clarke ate her croissant.

“First is posture! Don’t slouch against the back of the chair!” She scolded, hitting Clark in the arm lightly.

It was four hours later when Clarke was finally released from the torture of Costia's etiquette training. It consisted entirely of the escort critiquing Clarke’s posture, voice, facial expression, and ability to walk in a dress. She’d even forced Clarke to walk around the penthouse with books balanced on her head in six inch heels, which had resulted in more than a few scrapes on her knees.

“It’s the best I can do,” Costia sighs exasperatedly, and Clarke pursed her lips.

“Whatever, I’m going to get food.” Clarke kicked the bright pink heels off in two different directions as she practically stomped into the dining area, purposely pulling the ridiculously puffy dress Costia had forced her into up to her thighs..

Finn burst out laughing as he watched the blonde storm into the room, clutching his stomach and practically wheezing as she sat down, slouching as much as humanly possible, and tore apart her pork chop with her teeth.

“Y’know, the pig’s already dead, princess. The damage’s been done” Finn joked, wiping away tears of laughter as he sat up properly. The glare Clarke sent his way only seemed to amuse him, “How bad was it?” He asked as he cut his own pork chop, raising an eyebrow at the pissed off blonde.

“Worst day of my life. I never want to see a pair of heels or a book ever again” She sighed, obviously realizing she was being a little over dramatic and not caring in the least. Finn could only chuckle a bit, patting her comfortingly on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Marcus’ll be a bit better.”

"Fuckin' hope so,"

After lunch, Clarke made her way back to the living room, where Marcus was now waiting for her. She could only assume that Finn's training was all happening in the lounge, or in his room.

Marcus spent the first five minutes staring at her, seemingly deep in thought as Clarke just glanced around awkwardly.

“Alright, first things first is your approach,” He finally says, leaning his chin in his palm, “You definitely can’t go for intimidating,” Clarke was about to open her mouth to argue, but she shut it almost immediately.

“That’s what I thought.” Marcus mused, smiling slightly. Clarke just grumbled under her breath.

“What’s Finn’s approach?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s going for humorous and likable. He’s charming in a boyish kind of way. Unfortunately for you, your humour is more.. Sarcastic and insulting than it is charming,” Marcus shrugged.

Just as before, Clarke couldn’t think of any way to argue that.

“I have an idea; you may not like it, but you could pull it off well,” Marcus said, and Clarke nodded a bit.

“Okay, shoot.”

“Flirty and Girly.” Clarke deadpanned at that.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow, leaning back.

“Like I said; it’s not gonna be the most enjoyable, but you can do it. Tease them, joke around, giggle, smile. Wink if you have to. The audience will eat it up, and I’d bet with this years tributes, it won’t be a take anyone else is going after.” Marcus explained. Clarke thought it over for a minute, before sighing.

“Fine, I’ll try it. But I can’t make any promises..” As much as she didn’t like the idea, she trusted Marcus’ judgement more than her own. And she knew that in comparison with the other, mostly intimidating, female tributes, she'd be able to pull off girly no problem. Her issue would be with the flirty part.

“Good, now let’s get to work.”

 

* * *

 

 

“That was the most exhausting thing I have ever had to do in my entire life,” Finn practically collapsed on the couch beside Clarke, who shot him a slight grin.

“See? Told you it was bad. And you didn’t even have the high heels” She teased, smiling as he leaned his head on her shoulder.

“Still. How was your thing with Marcus?”

“Not as good as I’d hoped, but not bad,” She shrugged. Most of the time had been spent with Marcus trying to correct her tone, posture, and body language. Now all she had to do was pull it off in front of a crowd.

“I’m sure we’ll both do fine,” Finn muttered, yawning slightly as Clarke leaned her head against his with a smile.

“Tired?” She asked, raising an eyebrow as his arm snaked around her waist.

“Absolutely exhausted,” He admitted, pulling her closer. Clarke’s heart sped up slightly, and after a moment of hesitation, she moved to curl into his side.

 _Clarke! Stop it!_ She was torn in two about Finn; on one hand, Clarke knew nothing could ever come out of this, and in the best case, it would end with both of them dead and neither having to deal with the emotional pain.

On the other.. Clarke just couldn’t find the will to stop.

And so there she stayed, curled up in the couch in Finn's arms, drifting off to sleep as she tried to ignore her racing heart.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke was incredibly thankful that her prepping for the interview wasn’t nearly as grueling as before; this time there was no wax, no gritty foam. Just a quick ointment to get rid of her bruises, and a bath as Bronx worked some sweet smelling shampoo into her hair.

Once she was out and dried off, she was immediately forced into a chair as her prep team worked their magic, chittering away just as before.

Bronx quickly curled her hair, beginning to pull it back into a loose fishtail braid that began on the top right side of her head, curled around, and came to rest on her left shoulder. As he began pulling out strands of golden blonde hair to frame her face, Cecily worked away at her nails, painting them with a shimmery red polish. Clarke barely had time to admire her hair before she was turned away from the mirror, and they got to work on her makeup.

Bronx was just touching up her lipstick when out of the corner of her eye, Clarke saw Lexa walk into the room.

“All done!” Cecily chirped, turning Clarke to face the mirror. Just as before, she looked stunning. Her makeup was more natural this time, save for her bright red lipstick and a hint of red eyeliner.

“Enough admiring yourself, you need to get dressed,” Lexa’s mouth turned up into the closest thing thing to a smile Clarke had ever seen from her. She nodded, standing up as Lexa handed her the bag.

Clarke pulled on the dress, turning her back to Lexa so she could zip up the back.

“Now for the heels,” Lexa handed her a shoe box, and Clarke held back a groan. Standing at just under 5’5”, she hadn’t expected any less. But she had hoped.

They weren’t as high as the ones Costia had forced her to wear; they were about four inches, and they were a deep ruby to match her dress. Clarke wobbled for a moment as she put them on, but she managed to adjust quickly.

“Okay; now you can admire yourself,” Lexa gave her a real smile this time, leading Clarke towards the full body mirror.

The dress was silk, sleeveless, and with a plunging sweetheart neckline. It clung to Clarke’s body until just under the mid thigh, where it fanned out slightly in layers of folds that reached the ground. Brushed along her shoulders and back was a light pink shimmer powder that made her skin sparkle with every small movement.

“It’s gorgeous Lexa, thank you,” Clarke had to look down to smile at her stylist, who just shook her head.

“The outfit is only as beautiful as the person who wears it, Clarke.” Lexa rested a hand on her arm, “They’re going to love you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke’s heart was racing as she stepped out of the elevator, Lexa at her side. Her anxiety about going in front of all of Polis and attempting the angle Marcus had suggested was beginning to spike, and even her stylists quiet reassurances weren't enough to push it aside completely. She's the last tribute to arrive, and Clarke did her best to ignore the multiple pairs of eyes on her as Lexa leads her through the crowd.  _Chin high, back straight, good posture!_ Costia's voice rung through her head as she walked, and she adjusted her posture slightly as she made her way towards where Titus, Marcus, and Finn were already settled.

“There she is,” Marcus seems to visibly relax as he caught sight of her and Lexa. Clarke's eyes flick towards Finn, and she takes a moment to admire the way he looks; in a red tux with gold accents, they almost look like they're matching. Every other tribute had their own individual style, but she assumed that the matching colour schemes had been another symbol of Unity that Lexa and Titus had decided on. According to Marcus, after their hand holding stunt at the tribute parade, it was a big selling point for sponsors. Clarke stopped beside him, standing in front of Marcus, Titus, and Lexa as the three seemed to examine them. She can't help but notice that even with the heels on, she's still just the tiniest bit shorter than Finn. He turns to look over at her, seeming momentarily taken aback before his lips stretch into a grin. She ignored the heat that crept to her cheeks at the momentary awestruck expression on his face.

“Looking good, Princess,” He smiled at her, hand moving forward to gently fiddle with the end of her braid. Before Clarke can do it herself, Lexa swats him away.

“You can mess up her hair later if you wish, but not before her interview,” Lexa shoots him a cool glare, and Clarke can’t help but laugh as Finn seemed to cower under her gaze.

“You heard the woman, Collins,” She teased, as Lexa turned to speak to Titus, “But thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself. But you’ve been fidgeting with your tie, haven’t you?” She tutted jokingly, raising an eyebrow. She watched his cheeks go pink as he reached up to try to fix it, only to make it worse.

“Maybe a little; nerves is all,” Finn grinned sheepishly. Clarke just smiled and shook her head a little, shifting to fix it for him. She smooths out the collar of his shirt, if only for an excuse to keep touching him, and she doesn't miss the proper smile that pulled at his lips.

The two fell silent as the first tribute, Anya from District One, is called to the stage to do her interview. The stylists and mentors began to file out of the area, and Clarke looked over as she feels Lexa tapping her shoulder.

“Find a point in the interview to work in a twirl” Lexa murmured, and before Clarke can ask why, she was gone.

The interviews always start with District one, with the female tribute going first. That meant that Clarke and Finn would be the last two tributes to be interviewed; on one hand, it gave them the chance to see the other tributes interviews before their own, it gave them a chance to pick up any ideas. On the other, it gave their nerves the chance to sneak up on them, and it gave some of the audience the time to get bored. Clarke takes a seat on one of the plush couches, shoulder to shoulder with Finn as they watched the interviews on the large television screen. Anya and Roan both have similar approaches; mysterious and quiet, which Clarke had expected.

Echo goes for dark and intimidating; everything from her long, pointed nails to her dark makeup screams ‘dangerous’. Bellamy goes for a more laid back approach, a bit flirty, but mostly charming. Just watching the audience swoon over his act made Clarke grimace slightly. The district two tribute was a good actor, she'd give him that much.

The district three tributes weren’t very memorable; the girl was young, and answered each question with one word answers. The boy, Ilian, was quiet as well, though he spoke more than his counterpart had.

Luna, the district four female, takes an almost shocking approach, something she'd never seen from a tribute before; the best word to describe it would be peaceful, pacifistic. From Clarke’s memories of her swinging a sword the size of her leg around the training room without any difficulty, she definitely didn't seem like the pacifist type. But either way, the audience seemed to love it. John, the boy, was the exact opposite. He was all intimidation; snarky smiles, piercing glares, words dripping with apathy, and witty, sarcastic answers.

Districts Five through Nine were all relatively forgettable, save for the girl from Seven, Ontari. She was definitely younger than Clarke, maybe fifteen, but she managed to pull off the ‘dark and brooding’ approach surprisingly well. She made a mental note to keep track of the girl the next day in training.

Emori, the girl from Ten, was humorous, cracking jokes every few seconds. By the end, the audience was almost in tears. The boy, Aden, was quiet, soft spoken. Clarke’s heart still ached slightly at the thought of someone so young being thrown into the games against eighteen-year-olds who had spent their entire lives training for this chance. From what she'd seen in training, the boy could easily hold his own, but he still wouldn't stand a chance against the careers.

It was the girl from eleven, Charlotte, that really got her though. The girl was small, frail and seemed absolutely terrified. Clarke had seen her on more than one occasion, becoming the object of ridicule for the careers. She was always looking over her shoulder, constantly anxious that something -or someone- was going to be right behind her, ready to strike.

Clarke’s heartbeat was loud in her ears as she was ushered towards the stage entrance, too focused on her own nerves to care much about the boy from Eleven’s interview. At some point, she had reached back and grabbed onto Finn’s hand, holding on so tightly that she was sure she was cutting off the circulation. If it bothered him, he didn't say anything, he just laced their fingers together and did his best to silently calm her nerves.  
  
“Hey, Clarke, calm down,” He murmured as the district eleven boys interview started to come to a close, “You’ll be fine; they’re going to adore you. They’ll be so focused on how you look, they’ll barely notice what comes from your mouth,” He joked. Somehow, that managed to coax a laugh from Clarke, and the tension within her faded ever so slightly. She took a deep breath, giving Finn one last smile, before she was called up to the stage.

“Next, the girl who caught our attention the second she came out in that chariot, you know her, you love her! Give a warm welcome to Clarke Griffin!” Cage Wallace called out loudly, and as she stepped onto the stage, she found herself being met with an astounding flurry of cheers. She does her best to shoot the audience a dazzling smile, blowing a kiss just as Cage helps her into her seat.

“So, Clarke,” Cage begins, giving her a large grin, “I’d guess it would be an understatement to say that Polis is quite the change from District Twelve. What do you think your favourite part about the city has been so far?”

“The view from the training center, if I’m being honest” She laughed, making sure to keep her back straight as all of Costia's demands flitted through her mind again, “It’s absolutely gorgeous,”

“I've never been up there, so I'll have to take your word for it, but I do not doubt it for a second. Now, let’s start with the tribute parade, the moment all of Polis fell in love with Clake Griffin, am I right folks?” His statement was met with deafening cheers from the audience, and Clarke allowed herself to giggle, folding her hands in her lap, “Now; how did you feel riding that chariot?”

“Well, first off, you all have my lovely stylist Lexa to thank for that stunning outfit,” Clarke paused as the audience clapped, Lexa standing up and taking a small bow before taking her seat again, “But if I’m being totally honest, I was absolutely terrified,” Cage and most of the audience laughed with her at that, “I was just praying I didn’t fall; you can ask Finn, I probably cut off circulation in his hand the entire ride!”

“What about the flames? Were they real, or..?” Cage asked, leaning towards her with a smile.

“They did look very real but they were apparently synthetic, at least that’s what Lexa said. Considering I still have my hair, I’ll have to trust her on that.” She giggled a bit, and as much as it made her stomach twist, she leaned into Cage as well.

“Well what about tonight’s outfit? Is there any special surprise waiting for us here?” He prodded, raising an eyebrow. Clarke glanced to Lexa, who nodded, motioning for Clarke to spin.

“Actually, there is,” Clarke moved to stand up, stepping away from her chair before she began to twirl.

There were awed gasps, both from the audience, the other tributes, and even Cage, as the ruffles at the bottom of her dress were engulfed in flames. They licked up Clarke’s thighs, but just as before, there was no burning, just a pleasantly warm sensation. After a few moments Clarke had to stop, fearing she’d fall over if she didn't.

“Be careful, the last thing we need is someone falling off of the stage,” Cage joked, standing to take her arm, and with a girlish laugh, Clarke allowed herself to be led back to her chair. Cage asked her about her interests, and they chatted about her love of art and nature for a few minutes, before he got to what everyone seemed to be waiting for.

“Now, Clarke.. Enough about your time here; what about Twelve? Any family, a boyfriend, perhaps?” He raised an eyebrow, and Clarke laughed.

“Nope, no boyfriend back in twelve, unfortunately. I do have my mother though; she’s a healer, and my best friend Wells Jaha.” She smiled, and Cage raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t believe it for a second; gorgeous woman like you and no boys falling at your feet. You said no boyfriend back in twelve.. What about here?” He asked, and the audience let out strings of _oohs_ and _ahhs_ , “We saw you and Finn getting quite close at the tribute parade, did we not?” He pressed, and Clarke only shot him a charming smile, ignoring her racing heartbeat.

“A lady never kisses and tells, Cage,” She teases, trying her best to avoid the question.

“Don’t avoid the question, Miss Griffin!” He laughed, and opened his mouth once more. Clarke was extremely thankful when he was interrupted by the buzzing sound, signalling that her interview was over. She laughed as the audience let out disappointed groans, but they were quickly replaced by cheers as Clarke waved goodbye, blowing a few more kisses for good measure before stepping off the stage. She almost immediately seemed to sag in relief once she was off the stage.

"That was perhaps the most exhausting thing I've done in my life," Her words were a murmur as she walked by Finn, and she just barely caught the other's reply.

“You did pretty good either way, princess” Finn shot her a grin, before making his way onto the stage.

Clarke visibly relaxed as she sat down on one of the large sofas, fingers working to take off the torture devices on her feet before her toes began to bleed. Obviously the shoes hadn't been designed for long term wear. She slipped them off with a sigh of relief, focusing her attention on the screen as Cage introduced Finn to the audience. She knew she hadn't done amazingly at the flirty persona, but she figured she did well enough to impress at least a few people. But Finn? He was playing his part amazingly.

Clarke felt the couch cushion dip as someone took the empty seat beside her. Glancing over, she almost immediately focused her attention back on the screen, ignoring the amused chuckle that came from the boy beside her.

“What? Not happy to see me, _princess_?” Bellamy made sure to put extra emphasis on the word. Clarke clenched her jaw, completely and totally ignoring him as she allowed her feet to drop back onto the dloor, “Ouch, the cold shoulder.” He leaned back, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face as he put his arm over the back of the couch.

“What are you even doing, Blake?” She muttered, still not taking her eyes off the TV, but not exactly paying attention to what Finn or Cage was saying.

“ _Double_ ouch, the last name treatment. Y’know, you’re not supposed to be wounding me _before_ the games, princess,” He teased, and she shot him a glare, “I’m just watching your not-boyfriend get interviewed, same as you are.”

“Whatever,” She muttered, more to herself than anything, as she tried to ignore him leaning closer to her, his arm shifting to rest more on her shoulder than the back of the couch.

Clarke almost immediately moved to stand, shrugging his arm off with a cool glare as she grabbed her shoes and made her way back to the edge of the stage, ignoring the laughter that followed her departure. She leaned against the wall, watching Finn and Cage banter back and forth and finally beginning to listen to what they were actually saying. Anything to distract her from her anger long enough to stop her from punching Bellamy Blake.

“Now, Finn, we wanna get your take on the opening ceremonies; was Clarke exaggerating, or did she really cut off circulation in your hand?” He asked, and Finn just responded with a laugh.

“She was definitely not exaggerating; I think my hand started to turn purple at one point,” Finn leaned back in his chair, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes a bit. Sure, she had been the one to initially say it, but if anything, it had been the other way around.

“Really? Well, let’s get to what we’ve all been dying to know; any special girls back home in twelve?” Cage raised an eyebrow, and Finn laughed, momentarily looking sheepish.

“Actually, there has been one girl.. For a couple years now, if I'm being honest,” He admitted, and Cage whistled, leaning closer. This peaked Clarke’s interest, and she bit her lip as she listened. An uncomfortable feeling pooled in the bottom of her stomach, but she refused to believe that it was any form of jealousy.

“Tell us about her, Finn; girlfriend, crush, unrequited love..?” He teased, and Finn laughed.

“For a while, I was entirely sure it unrequited love,” He laughed, “But, recently, we’ve grown closer. I’m almost sure I have a real shot with her,”

Cage whistled once more, clapping Finn on the shoulder, “Well, if she doesn’t like you by now, I think I’ve got a foolproof way.”

“Please, enlighten me” Finn grinned, running a hand through his hair

“You go into that arena, and you win. You get back home, and you sweep that girl off her feet” Cage grinned, and Finn’s smile seemed to falter for a moment.

“In any other situation, Cage, I’d be with you. But unfortunately, I don't think winning will help me much. Not in my situation, anyways,” He admitted, and Cage’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“And why’s that?”

Finn hesitated a moment, taking in a deep breath before he spoke again.

“Because she’s here with me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!Chapter has been Edited!!

The silence that followed Finn’s confession hung in the air for mere moments, but to Clarke, it felt like an eternity.

_He’s talking about me._

She could hear the crowd erupt in cheers. She could see Cage’s lips moving. But still, she was unable to make out any comprehensible words. All of the noise around her was dull muted. It was as if her ears were clogged with water.

_For a while I was entirely sure it was unrequited love…_

Finn’s words echoed through Clarke’s mind as she tried to come to terms with his confession. The word love was what stuck with her the most. They’d barely interacted before the reaping.. There was the odd polite conversation, if ever the two had run into each other at school, or in the market. But…  _love?_

Clarke's mind didn't really register as Finn was dismissed from the stage amongst the cheering of the crowd, brushing past her without a word as if he hadn't just declared his love for her on live television, in front of the entire nation. Her moves were robotic; for a couple moments she felt as if she were back at the reaping, veins seemingly filled with lead as she had to force herself to move. She was too shocked by the confession to pay mind to the other tributes, who were watching her with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and anger. She could only assume the anger came from the fact that Finn's confession had just turned the entire nations attention on the tributes from twelve. She made her way in silence towards the elevator, stepping in with Finn, Marcus and Costia. The silence between them was deafening; it seemed even the escort was at a loss for words over the ordeal. The air in the elevator was thick, and Clarke was sure she was going to suffocate if she spent too much longer inside it.

The second the elevator opened Clarke darted out, dropping her shoes on the floor and speed walking towards her room, desperate to escape the tension in the air. She didn't even meet Finn's eyes as she made her way towards the hallway.

“What about dinne-” Costia began, but Clarke cut her off with a mumble about not being hungry, before closing and locking the door to her bedroom.

Her mind was racing as she kicked her shoes away, peeling off her dress and stepping into the bathroom. She decided to forgo a shower, instead filling the bathtub with warm water, and a vanilla scented liquid that made the water froth with thick lilac bubbles. She stripped from her underwear, sighing heavily as she sunk into the water and leaned her head back against the bathroom’s wall. Even the warm water wasn't enough to melt away the tension that had settled in her muscles, but it did help slightly.

The words just kept flitting through her mind. It was as if there was a broken record player in her mind, constantly repeating the same few phrases every couple seconds.

_Unrequited… For a couple years…_

_Love.._

Clarke pressed her palms to her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

 

* * *

 

 

That night she found herself back on the roof, but this time she was alone. Only in a tank top and a pair of shorts, the cool air pricking at her skin seemed to tug her back to reality. The tinkling of the garden's windchimes were the only sound on the rooftop, aside from the soft padding of her socked feet on the concrete.

Clarke allowed her fingers to run along the tops of the waist-high rose bushes lining the garden, occasionally catching a bulb with her hand and gently pulling it, along with the stem, from the bush. By the time she’d gotten to the other side of the roof, where her charcoal drawing of Finn was still grinning up at the night sky, she had about a dozen different coloured roses in her hands. Clarke moved to the edge of the roof, allowing the gritty stone to dig into the underside of her bare thighs as she sat down, staring silently over the horizon.

She could hear the faint sound of music coming from the city below, and she can just barely make out what seemed to be a large crowd moving through the streets. A feeling of disgust pooled in her stomach as she watched the festivities.

 _They’re celebrating our deaths.._ She thought to herself, taking the roses one by one and slowly picking the thorns off of their stems. The mundane action, along with the prick of the occasional thorn against her finger, was enough to distract her from her thoughts.

Clarke continued to absentmindedly pick the thorns off the rose stems, but her attention soon turned up to the night sky. The moon was full, and it was surprisingly clear for a city as large as Polis. From what her father had taught her, large cities used to make it difficult to see the sky, because of the pollution they released. But the sky was completely unobstructed, and Clarke could make out hundreds of stars twinkling above.

She ran her fingers along the clean steps as she tried to pick out as many constellations as she could remember; Ursa Major, Orion’s Belt, Delphinus..

She’d begun weaving the flowers together into an intricate crown, something her mother had taught her years and years ago, when she heard the faint sliding of the elevator doors opening. Her stomach clenched, and as the footsteps approached where she was sitting, she waited for the sound of Finn’s voice to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the rooftop.

“Couldn’t sleep either, Princess?” Clarke’s shoulders tensed up ever so slightly. She was relieved that the voice behind her wasn't Finn's, but at the same time, it still wasn't a voice she particularly wanted to hear.

“I’m not in the mood, Bellamy.” Clarke muttered, her voice sounding nothing short of exhausted even to her own ears. After she spoke, she realized it was the first time she had ever said his name, and it almost felt awkward falling from her lips. The footsteps stopped, and he stayed quiet for a moment.

“Did you draw this?” He asked, his voice no longer carrying a mocking tone. Clarke turned to look over her shoulder, seeing him standing in a sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, admiring the charcoal sketch of Finn. She pursed her lips, turning away.

“Yea.” As much as she wanted to, she was too mentally exhausted to bother with a quick witted remark about someone else coming up here to draw Finn. She knew it would probably start another mini argument between them, and she was just beginning to allow herself to feel thankful that Bellamy didn't seem in the mood to antagonize her at the present time.

“Looks good,” He complimented, stepping to the edge of the roof and lowering himself to sit beside Clarke. They sat almost shoulder to shoulder, his clothed thigh pressed against her bare one. She could practically feel the warmth radiating through his pajama pants, and it made her realize just how cold she'd really become. She ignored the heat that crept up the back of her neck at the compliment, ducking her head both in an attempt to hide her embarrassment and to focus on the flowers in her hand.

“Thanks.” She murmured softly. They sat in silence as she finished off the crown in her hands; it wasn't exactly pleasant, but there was no tension between them. Clarke would dare say it was almost.. peaceful.

“Y’know, I’m not sure if they’ll be too happy with you stealing their flowers for accessories,” Bellamy's voice was soft, a quiet chuckle following his words as Clarke turned the finished product over in her hands. She felt the corner of her mouth pull up into a barely noticeable smile.

“They brought me here to fight for my life against twenty three other teenagers; they can deal with a few missing roses,” She retorted, and his quiet laugh seemed to ring throughout the rooftop.

“Fair enough..” He muttered, watching from the corner of his eye as Clarke moved to toss the crown behind her. Leaning back, she turned her attention back to the night sky, and she watched Bellamy do the same. Neither of them looked at each other, neither of them even spoke for a while, both seeming too worried about destroying the unspoken truce they'd managed to settle on.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

Clarke was surprised when Bellamy broke the silence, glancing at him and raising both her eyebrows high enough that she thought they might disappear into her hairline.

“That was the last thing I expected to come out of your mouth..” She pursed her lips to hide a slight smile as she looked back at the stars, “I accept your apology, but in the future, that’s probably not the most efficient way to make friends.”

The smile that formed on Bellamy’s face was present for just a split second, but Clarke caught it from the corner of her eye; no malice, or arrogance. Just a genuine smile.

“True… But we aren’t exactly here to make friends, are we?” He let out a humourless chuckle.

"Guess not," She murmured in return, fingers running along the goosebumps that had formed on her arms. Silence fell between them once more, but it seemed a lot more comfortable this time. Clarke kept her eyes on the night sky, hands running along her arms in an attempt to warm herself up. From the corner of her eye she saw Bellamy watching her, and she glanced over as the silence was broken by his soft laughter.

"What?" Clarke raised an eyebrow, turning her head to properly look as him.

"You. Too prideful to admit that you're cold," He muttered, and before she could open her mouth to argue that she was  _perfectly fine, Blake_ , he shifted to pull off his sweater and tossed it in her lap, leaving him in just a t-shirt "Put it on, before you freeze to death."

She looked at him in surprise, glancing between him and the sweater for a moment.

"You're not gonna catch some sort of disease, Griffin," Bellamy teased, and she ignored the blush that rushed to her cheeks as she hesitantly pulled on the sweater. It was way too big for her, but it was extremely warm. She lightly elbowed the boy beside her as he muttered a sarcastic  _You're welcome_ , but there was a small smile on her face as she reluctantly murmured out a thanks.

She wasn't sure how long they sat there, long bouts of quiet occasionally being interrupted by one of them commenting on the sky, or the flowers, or the festivities. At some point, Clarke began to list off all constellations she could see, pointing them out to Bellamy as she did.

Neither of them mentioned home, or family, or love. They didn’t bring up the games, or training, or their interviews. They just sat there, shoulder to shoulder on the rooftop, until the sun rose over the city below. And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Clarke Griffin was able to set aside her worries and just enjoy the moment.

And so, that was that night that she decided she didn’t entirely despise the companionship of Bellamy Blake.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Clarke was at the breakfast table before even Costia. She was already dressed for training, chewing slowly on a bagel as her mind mulled over the events of last night. She wasn't entirely sure how to feel about it; to say the least, she was conflicted. After their first encounters, she wanted nothing more than to hate the dark haired career's guts. But last night had shown her something different. It showed her another side to the arrogant boy she'd decided she didn't like before they'd even actually spoken. She was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of chair legs scraping against tile floor, and she looked up to see Marcus taking the seat across from her.

“Up early, I see” He mused, speaking softly. It was just the two of them, save for two avoxes positioned in opposite corners of the room.

“Yea.. Couldn’t fall back asleep.” She murmured, finishing off her bagel and taking a small sip of water.

“The training center is open now; no other tributes’ll be there, but the trainers will.” Marcus said, and she shot him a grateful smile. She didn't exactly want to sit in the penthouse alone for hours, left to her own thoughts, and she wanted even less to have to deal with Finn. Training early would offer her an escape from both of those things.

“Thanks, Marcus. For everything,” Clarke stood, making her way towards the elevator, before his next words stopped her.

“Finn did you a favour yesterday. It may not seem like it, but he did.” Clarke’s only response was a shake of her head.

“He made me look weak, he made _himself_ look weak.” She bit the inside of her cheek, and Marcus tutted.

“No; he made you two the center of attention, and that’s exactly what you want. Emotions give you strength, Clarke. More than you realize; they don’t always make you weak.” He spoke softly.

“..They will, once we’re in the arena.” She didn’t turn back to Marcus, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the training center a little more aggressively than she needed to.

 

It was silent as Clarke stepped out of the elevator; it would be another three hours at least before the other tributes started to file in. The gamemakers hadn’t even arrived yet. It was just her, and the trainers; nothing to distract her, nothing to focus on besides honing her skills and preparing herself for the games.

She began with spears, throwing long after her arm became sore. She threw until almost every spear that flew from her hands hit its mark.

Then she moved on to the gauntlet; an extremely difficult obstacle course that most tributes - save for the careers - did their best to avoid. With each mistake, she started over; the muscles in her legs were burning, blood dripped from her nose from where she had messed up on a hurdle and smacked her face on the ground. Large bruises were beginning to form from where she’d hit her arm on an obstacle, or smacked her side as she attempted to launch herself over the barriers. She went through the course until she knew it backwards and forward, could do it with her eyes closed.

She was washing the blood from beneath her nose when the first tributes filed in. She ignored them, refusing to spare even a glance as she moved to where the melee weapons were; swords, daggers. The things that would be easiest to come across in the arena, aside from regular knives. She'd gotten good at fighting from a distance; none of that would help her if she found herself pinned between the ground and another tribute.

Clarke listened intently as the trainer explained to her how to use a broadsword. She struggled with the weight at first, but quickly adjusted to it; by the time the training area had filled with tributes, she was doing decently in a sparring match with the trainer. It definitely wouldn’t be her weapon of choice; her movements with it were too clumsy. But she’d be able to defend herself with one if it ever game to a point where she really needed to.

She hoped she’d never need to.

Clarke did her best to avoid Finn as she trained; each time she saw him attempt to approach her, she’d find some reason to move stations. She was able to dodge him until lunch, when he slipped into the seat across from her. She stayed silent, chewing on her sandwich as she stared blankly at the table.

“Clarke, what’s going on? Just yesterday, we were fine..” He murmured, and when she looked up, the genuine expression of hurt on his face made her stomach clench. Clarke softens for a moment, before pursing her lips and looking away.  _Just yesterday you decided to complicate things by declaring your love for me._

But as she looked back at his face, she could practically feel her resolve crumbling a little. But she continued to stand her ground, looking him in the eyes as she spoke.

“We can’t do this, Finn.” Her voice is soft, but firm, “We’re not in twelve, we can’t just.. Go off and live happily ever after. We have two more days of training, and then.. We’re in that arena. We both can’t survive this. We’ll be lucky if even one of us does.”

“We can still be allies, Clarke, we do-” She put a hand up to cut him off, and he fell silent.

“And how long does that last, Finn? Do we.. split halfway through the games, hoping we aren’t the last ones standing? Do we take out everyone else, and then go and kill each other?” Clarke’s voice is barely above a whisper. He stays silent, his eyes fixated on the wall behind her. Another bit of her resolve crumbles as a heavy sigh passes her lips “I’ll consider allies. That’s it.”

She doesn't wait for a response before she pushes away her empty tray and turned her back to Finn, walking back into the training center before any of the other tributes are even close to finishing their food.

Clarke was pulling down a bow and a sheath of arrows from the archery station when she heard the sound of footsteps break the silence of the training center. She payed it no mind, assuming it was just another tribute who finished early who was going to another station.

She was more than a little surprised as she watched a tanned, freckled arm reach above her head, fingers wrapping around one of the longbows.

Clarke turns to glance at Bellamy momentarily, before moving to position herself in front of one of the targets. Bellamy does the same a couple feet away, and they shoot in silence. Her own skills had steadily began to improve over the course of training, but watching Bellamy, she can't help but feel like a child handling something they shouldn't be allowed to touch. For each bullseye she manages to shoot, he shoots five.

“You’re focusing too much on your target, focus on your actions.” Bellamy spoke just as she moved to grab her second sheath of arrows. She pressed her lips into a thin line, but followed his instructions; she makes sure her stance is as perfect as she can get it before she lets the arrow fly.

With a _thud_ , it hit dead centre, and a smile graced her lips. They fall back into silence, and as the other tributes begin to file in, Clarke set her bow aside. She turns, raising an eyebrow as she watches Bellamy moving to do the same.

“You following me or something, Blake?” She asked, turning away from him as she made her way towards the hand-to-hand combat. Even she'd surprised by the lack of malice in her own tone. Her words almost sound playful. She heard a chuckle come from behind her.

“And if I am?” Bellamy's tone is teasing, laced with only the slightest hint of his previous arrogance.

“I’d tell you to screw off” She didn’t even glance back at him, fighting back the smile.

“Ouch. I thought we’d had a bonding moment, Griffin," Even with her back to him, she could just imagine Bellamy putting a hand to his chest in mock hurt, a smirk puling at his lips.

“You thought wrong, it seems.” She stepped up onto the platform, waiting for a trainer to take the spot across from her.

“Aw, c’mon princess-” Before the curly haired boy had a chance to finish, Clarke heard a familiar voice cutting him off.

“Why don’t you come up with your own nicknames, Blake?” Finn raised an eyebrow as he walked towards Bellamy. Clarke pursed her lips but refused to acknowledge him, turning her attention on the trainer before her.

Clarke can practically _feel_ the shift in Bellamy, his playful tone morphing into arrogance as he turned to face Finn, “And what’re you gonna do about it? Gonna come to her rescue, loverboy?” He chuckled, and Clarke gritted her teeth slightly as she kicked the trainer in the knee, watching as he fell to the mat. Before Finn could respond, she turned, glaring at the both of them.

“Save it for the arena. I’m not in the mood to deal with you two bitching at each other. So either quit it, or do it somewhere else.” She snapped, hopping from the platform and making her way towards the fire building station.

“Just stay with your little career pack” Finn shot the smirking boy one last glare before he walked after Clarke.

“Clarke, I’m s-” He was cut off by her whipping around, her annoyance painted across her features.

“I don’t need you to step in to crap like that, Finn. He wasn't even being that bad, shockingly. I don’t need you trying to swoop in and save the day every time you _think_ I'm in trouble.”

With that, she turned away, gritting her teeth and ignoring the sigh that came from behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

The first half of their last day of training passed as normal, but once the tributes had finished lunch, they were lined up in the hallway outside of the training centre.

Roan from District One was called in first; the private training sessions go in ascending order, with the male from each district going first. This means Clarke’s session will be last.

Each tribute’s private session is scored out of twelve, based on how much they’d managed to impress the gamemakers. Tributes with the highest scores always get the most sponsors, but more often than not, find themselves being targeted as a threat in the arena. The careers tended to get scores of nine or ten, while regular tributes got between five and eight. Often times, tributes who feel they're being seen as minor threats will purposely preform badly in their private training sessions, just so they’re ignored once they’re in the arena; the most recognizable case of this was Octavia Blake. She had only scored a three in her training, and in her interview after being crowned victor, admitted to doing so on purpose.

The silence in the hallway continued to hang heavy as more tributes filed out, everyone left to their own thoughts. Clarke couldn't help but watch each tribute as they made their way into the training center, feeling a knot form in her stomach. By tomorrow, a good chunk of these tributes would be dead, and all the rest would be trying to kill her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Finn watching her with a worried gaze.

 _You alright?_ He mouthed to her, obviously not wanting to be the one who broke the hallways silence. She only nodded in return, before looking away.

 _Almost all of them.._ She thought to herself. As the girl from District Eleven’s name was called, and the doors to the training centre closed behind her, Clarke and Finn were left alone in the hallway.

At some point, Clarke had gripped onto Finn’s hand, trying to find some silent outlet for her anxiety. Her nails dug into his skin, but he didn't make any attempt to pull his hand back, only pressing his palm closer to Clarke’s.

“Sorry,” She murmured, looking down at the red marks her nails had left as she tried to pull her hand away. He only held on tighter, staring ahead.

“Don’t let go.” He whispered, and she could hear the strain in his voice.

So against her better judgement, she didn’t, and they stood in the hallway, hands clasped together as they waited for Finn’s name to be called.

“Finn Collins” The monotone female voice rang over the loudspeakers, and with a final squeeze of Clarke’s hand, he stepped away.

“Finn” Clarke’s voice was soft, and as the doors opened, he turned to look at her over his shoulder, “Good luck”

He gave her a small smile, “You too, princess.”

And then she was left alone with her thoughts. Her nimble fingers fidgeted with the clasp on her father’s watch, her eyes squeezing shut as she leaned back against the wall.

Clarke didn’t even have any idea what she was going to do when they called her name. Thanks to her grand entrance and the attention brought to both her and Finn from their interviews, she no longer had the option to fly under the radar.

Her only option was to showcase her newfound combat skills, and pray for a score higher than a six. Anything below that, and Clarke knew she could kiss at least a quarter of her potential sponsors goodbye.

“Clarke Griffin” The voice rang out in the almost empty hallway, and Clarke inhaled deeply through her nose in an attempt to quell her anxiety.

 _Panicking and worrying will only result in mistakes… Relax.._ She thought to herself. She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the training center for what would be the last time.

For the first time, Clarke actually looked over at where the gamemakers sat, like a horde of oddly coloured birds overlooking their prey. They were all talking and laughing loudly, paying no mind to the tribute before them.

Clarke clenched her jaw, making her way to where the spears were. She chose a target directly in front of where the gamemakers sat, clearing her throat as she waited for their attention to come away from their own wine glasses.

“Clarke Griffin,” Her words echoed in the large room, “District Twelve.”

Only two gamemakers glanced her way. Her shoulders tensed, and she grabbed one of the spears, handling it for a moment before throwing it with pinpoint accuracy at one of the people-shaped targets. She did the same thing, hitting as multiple targets around the training centre with lethal aim. She was down to one spear when she finally took the chance to look up at the gamemakers.

Those who were paying attention looked decently impressed. But majority of them had been distracted by a large roasted pig being wheeled in on a silver platter.

Clarke could feel her perfectly manicured nails digging into the skin of her palm. They were the ones about to send her into an arena to die, and they didn’t even have enough decency to pay attention to her.

No; instead, she was being upstaged by a roasted pig.

Before Clarke could think of what to do, her body had made the decision for her. Her arm drew back, spear in hand, and she let it fly.

But this time, her aim wasn’t focused on the target.

With a loud _thunk_ , the spear pierced the center of the apple in the dead pig’s mouth, pinning it to the wall as the gamemakers looked on in horror.

She didn’t speak, dipping down into a mock bow before she turned and walked out of the training room without another word.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner was served in the living room that night as Clarke, Finn, Lexa, Titus, Marcus, and Costia crowd the television, waiting until the broadcast that would reveal to them their scores.

“So,” Marcus spoke in between mouthfuls of lamb stew, “How did it go?”

Clarke stayed silent, heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t know what would happen; she knew her score wouldn’t be pretty, that was for sure. And the gamemakers couldn't exactly arrest her now. But what truly worried her was what they could do to her once she was in the arena; they were in charge, they controlled the traps. They could easily make her life a living hell. Before she had to scramble for something to say, Finn spoke up, and she resisted the urge to sigh in relief.

“They barely paid attention to me; A couple of them watched, but most of them were too busy pouring themselves more drinks,” He spoke bitterly, leaning back against the couch, “I just shot some arrows, threw around a couple of weights until they dismissed me.” Clarke internally sighed in  relief. At least Finn was aggravated by the attitudes of the gamemakers as well.

 _But he wasn’t the one who attacked them_ Clarke thought to herself, finding it hard to swallow as Marcus turned his eyes on her.

“How about you, sweetheart?” He raised an eyebrow, and she took a deep breath. There was no point in lying; she’d have to tell them once they saw her horrid score anyways.

“I threw a spear at the gamemakers.”

The sound of glass shattering followed moments after her declaration and Cosita looked on in horror.

“You did _what?_ ” She shrieked, absolutely mortified by her declaration as an avox began to clean up the broken wine glass at her feet. She began to sputter, seemingly on the verge of having an aneurysm.

After the initial moment of shock passed, Costia’s incoherent rambling was drowned out by laughter from both Finn and Marcus. Lexa and Titus both gave her small smiles.

“How can you _possibly_ be laughing at a time like this?!” Costia shrilled, and Marcus didn’t respond, instead turning to Clarke with a proud smile.

“Nice going, Sweetheart” He grinned, raising his glass of champagne in a mock cheer. Though her fears about her actions didn’t entirely dissipate, she was able to momentarily join on on the laughter.

“Not bad, princess,” Finn muttered in her ear, still grinning widely at the mental image of Clarke throwing a spear at the gamemakers. Before she could respond, the national anthem began to play on the television. Costia had retreated to the kitchen, pacing back and forth and continuing to stutter to herself as she watched the screen.

The scores were shown in the same order as the training sessions; District one to twelve, with Male scores shown first.

A picture of Roan flashed on the screen, and a large ‘9’ appeared next to his picture. Anya was next, an ‘8’ flashing beside her face.

Both Bellamy and Echo scored a ‘10’, and somehow, even their pictures gave off a heavy air of smugness as the number flashed beside them. She could only imagine the smirk on Bellamy's face as he watched the first double digit score flash beside his picture.

Illian scored an ‘8’, while his female counterpart scored a ‘5’.

Luna scored a ‘7’, a low score for a career tribute. Murphy scored a ‘9’.

The closer they got to district twelve, the more anxious Clarke became. As Charlotte’s face flashed on the screen, a ‘4’ flashing beside it, she was chewing on the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood.

Finn’s picture flashed next, and they were silent.

An ‘8’ flashed beside his name, and they all broke out in cheers.

“Apparently they were paying more attention than you thought” Clarke smiled at him, gently patting his knee. But the celebration was short lived, and even Costia was silent as Clarke’s picture appeared on the screen.

‘11’.

They were all shocked into silence as the seal of Polis flashed on the screen again, accompanied by the national anthem as the screen faded to black. An eleven.. That was the highest score out of all the tributes, even managing to beat out Echo and Bellamy.

“An eleven!” Costia's shriek shattered the silence, though this time, it wasn’t anger in her voice, but unbridled happiness. She rushed back over, engulfing Clarke into a tight hug before she sat bad down, beaming.

“An eleven..? I threw a spear at them, how the fuck...?” Clarke was still shell shocked, her eyes wide as she grinned just as wide as everyone else everyone else.

“They must’ve liked your moxy, princess” Finn grinned, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as he pulled her to his side.

“I think this calls for a toast” Lexa's face was painted with a smile larger than Clarke had ever seen her wear, and they all raised their champagne glasses, “To Clarke Griffin, the girl on fire!”

They all gave one final cheer, Finn and Clarke clinking their glasses together before downing them in a single gulp.

 

* * *

 

 

It all finally hit Clarke as she lays in bed that night, staring at the ceiling in silence. Every thought she had pushed aside, every emotion she had forced her mind to block out. They hit her one after another, like a damn inside of her had broken and they were coming out in waves, crashing over her body and pulling her beneath the water.

 _Within twenty-four hours, I could be dead…_ She thought to herself, finding a thickness in her throat that made it difficult to breathe.

The tears she had been unable to shed before brimmed in her eyes. She’d never truly sat and thought about what being a tribute meant, not until now. This wasn’t some game, it wasn’t a dream. What she had once considered her worst nightmare had become reality. She was being faced with the very real possibility of her own death.

Despite the warmth in her bedroom, a shudder ran through her body.

There had been so much she’d wanted from her life. So much she hadn’t accomplished. So many plans she left unfinished. And it had all been torn out from under her feet by a small piece of paper. Every hope, every dream, everything she'd wanted for her future. It could all be gone with the thud of a spear in her chest, the blade of a knife pressed to her jugular. 

Clarke’s palms pressed against her eyes, every atom in her body willing the tears to stop. But she still felt their heat as they escaped her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, dripping onto the pillowcase.

Her throat closed as familiar faces flashed through her mind, as if they were printed onto the inside of her eyelids.

Wells.

What would he do if she died in that arena? Would he sit, shell shocked, by his television, tears in his eyes as he prayed for her to open her eyes and stand up? Would he watch the life drain from her eyes from his screen, or hear the canon that signaled her death, and feel his heart break the same way it had when his mother passed? Would he wait in the town square as they brought her coffin from Polis for the funeral?

What about her mother?

Would she sit at home, unable to do more than stare at the wall as she realized she was alone? Would she attempt to immerse herself in her word just as she’d done when Jake Griffin passed, only to find that nothing could distract her from the pain of watching her own daughter’s death on live television? Would she fall to her knees before the coffin, forehead pressed against the wood as she prayed to gods that had stopped listening that this was all some sort of sick, twisted nightmare?

Clarke felt like she was being suffocated. The more the attempted to force herself to calm down, the more she panicked, and within minutes, she couldn't stand to stay beneath the covers.

She tossed her blankets aside, trying to hold off the sobs as she swung her legs over the side of her bed. Before she’d registered what she was doing, she was already at the door across the hall, rapping softly on the metal.

“Finn.. Are you awake?” Clarke heard her own voice break, but at this moment, she no longer cared about showing weakness. She could already feel her chest constricting, and she couldn’t stand to be alone with her thoughts any longer. She didn't want to be alone any more.

“Yea,” His voice was soft, and Clarke bit the inside of her cheek, a metallic taste flooding her mouth as she broke the raw skin.

“Can I come in..?” She asked, guilt mingling with the heavy ache that had settled in her chest.

“Yea, doors open.”

Clarke stepped inside, tears still streaking down her face as she stepped into the room. He wasn’t laying down; he was sat up against his headboard, head tilted back as he stared blankly at the ceiling. From the look of his eyes, she hadn’t been the only one crying that night.

Finn turned his head to look at her, Clarke watched the shock flit across his face momentarily. She knew she looked like a mess; she had caught sight of her reflection of the metal door. Her hair was tangled, tied back in a messy attempted at a ponytail. She could only imagine the state of her face. She'd always been an ugly crier, and she was sure that her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her fair skin blotchy. At the moment she couldn't force herself to care about how she looked.

He didn’t speak and instead, he lifted the covers, and after a moment of hesitation, Clarke climbed into the bed beside him. His arms wrapped around her, his fingers pulling out her hair tie and gentle threading through the tangled blond locks as she cried into the crook of his neck. Her nails dug into his back, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if she was scare'd he'd disappear if she even thought of letting go.

“I’m here, princess, I’ve got you” He murmured into her hair, and after a while, Finn heard her begin to sniffle, pulling away from the embrace slightly.

“I’m sorry, I just… I couldn’t be alone” She whispered, her guilt still twisting in the pit of her stomach as she wiped away her tears.

“Clarke..” Finn whispered, pulling away to cup her cheek as she turned her head away, “Hey, look at me.”

Her eyes flicked back to his face, her breathing shaky as she tried to stop the second wave of sobs that threatened to overtake her.

“Don’t be sorry, okay?” Clarke could see Finn’s eyes going glossy as he wiped the tears from her cheeks, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Clarke leaned forward, her forehead resting in the crook of his neck as her arms wrapped back around him.

“I just.. I thought of Wells, and m-my mother.. I thought of twelve..” Her words were muffled by his chest, but she felt Finn nod a little as his fingers traced designs into her back.

“I know, Clarke.. I know.” He whispered back, just holding her close to him as she slowly began to calm down.

It was more than ten minutes later when the silence between them was broken; Clarke’s words were spoken so softly, Finn almost didn’t catch them.

“I just wanna go home, Finn..” Her voice sounded more like a whimper, a plea for help. It killed him a little to know that there was nothing he could do to take her pain away.

“You will… I promise, Clarke. You’ll go home.”

Something about his voice made her anxiety dissipate ever so slightly.

It was over an hour later when they finally fell asleep in each others arms. Over an hour of solid silence; they both knew that no words could express what they were feeling, nor would they help them with their emotions.

So they sat, each doing their best to comfort the other in silence as their exhaustion lulled them to into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!! PLEASE READ !!!
> 
> Okay, so especially after chapters three and four, I've gotten a lot - and I mean, a LOT - of messages/comments regarding the Finn/Clarke relationship in this story.
> 
> I wanna address the most common comment I seem to be getting; things along the lines of 'i thought this was a Bellarke Story' or 'Stop with the Finn/Clarke, just give us bellarke already!'. As you probably saw in this chapter, they're still not on very great terms. They can tolerate each other, sure, but they aren't even friends by this point. And though I will assure you that this story will be focused around Bellamy/Clarke, I can also promise that the story is not going to be entirely revolving around them. I do have a legitimate plot set out for this story, and unless I myself change my mind,\ about an aspect of it, I intent to stick to my plan as much as I can.
> 
> TL;DR, Please stop leaving comments/messaging me about Finn/Clarke, and when Bellamy/Clarke are going to get together.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed the story, feel free to leave kudos, comments, and follow me on my tumblr @kuidore!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!Chapter has been Edited!!

Clarke woke up the next day just as the sun began to rise, orange light streaming in through the window as her eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden brightness. Squinting, she moved to sit up, but was stopped by arms snaking tighter around her midsection.

Finn was still wrapped protectively around her, chin resting on her head as he held her to his chest. A silent sigh escaped her lips as she shifted slightly to look up at him, resisting the urge to bring her hand up and touch his face. Dried tears had made home on his cheeks from the night before, and his eyes were still a little puffy, but he looked more relaxed than she'd ever seen him. Clarke closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his shoulder, giving herself a few moments to revel in the warmth and comfort of the boy beside her. After a few deep breaths through her nose, she forced herself to slip carefully out of Finn's arms. 

She padded quietly back to her room, closing the door behind her and rubbing her eyes. It was early, she still had a few hours to prepare. The games didn't start until around noon; she'd heard that it was because so many people in their capital slept in. Making her way to the bathroom, Clarke stopped in front of the mirror, biting her bottom lip. When it came to her face, she didn't look much better than Finn had; her eyes were still rimmed with red, and her cheeks were still a little blotchy. She wouldn't be surprised if she had been crying in her sleep. But it wasn't her face that caught her attention, it was her body.

She had gained a significant amount of weight since her arrival in Polis. A small portion of it was probably muscle, from all the physical training she'd forced herself through, but the majority of it was just her body storing the fat it never had the chance to back in twelve. Even with her "wealth" in comparison to some of the others in the district, they still never really had enough money for extra food. They ate what they needed, which had obviously been the biggest contributor to her slim frame.

Weight was viewed differently in the districts and in Polis. In the districts, being fat was like a status symbol; it meant that the person had enough money to feed themselves, it meant that they didn't have to go hungry most nights because they just couldn't afford to eat anymore. In Polis, she'd learned, fat was seen as unattractive. People were constantly trying to get rid of it, trying to eat less so they got smaller. It didn't make any sense to her, but almost nothing to do with the citizens of their capital ever did.

To Clarke, the little bit of extra weight just meant that she had longer in the arena before she starved to death.

She wasn’t sure how long it had been when she finally tore her gaze from the mirror. Stripping off her clothes, Clarke stepped into the shower and fiddled with the buttons for a few minutes before she had a stream of water hot enough to turn her skin pink beating against her back. She silently massaged shampoo into her hair, blankly staring at the shower wall as her thoughts drifted to the games. Over the last week, she'd done her best to keep her thoughts as far away from the other tributes as possible; now, it was a luxury she couldn't afford. For a moment she allowed herself to wonder what strategies her competitors would use. The mentors would probably have a significant influence on that, so as she rinsed out her hair, Clarke attempted to recall as many mentors as she could.

She already knew that the district two tributes wouldn't follow Octavia Blake's strategy, though it was an impressive one. Playing the innocent little girl role, making people basically stop considering her as a career or a threat. Then, making her competitors drop like flies once the numbers began to dwindle. It was something careers almost never did, but she had managed to pull it off beautifully. She knew she didn't have to worry about that with Bellamy or Echo, though; they were too intimidating to be seen as innocent or sweet, and especially Echo seemed too intent on bloodshed to even consider hiding out until the games were almost over.

She could also basically ignore districts one and four when it came to worrying about strategy; it seemed like every year, the careers did the exact same thing. They banded together, took out their competition, and then killed each other in a final bloodbath. It had worked for them so well that they were almost always the ones to win, but that may be attributed to the training they underwent from basically the moment they went to school. She didn't expect anything different from this years tributes.

Clarke spend almost a full hour after she had finished cleaning herself, standing under the stream of hot water and staring at the wall as she mentally went through the strategies of all the mentors she could remember. Lincoln Trikru, District Seven. Won his games with pure strength and common sense when he was eighteen.  Monty Green, District Three. Won his games by slowly contaminating his competitors food with a neurotoxin he had received from a sponsor package. Raven Reyes, also District Three. Won her games by rigging up electrical traps that ended up electrocuting and killing over a third of the other tributes. She didn't step out of the shower until she was absolutely sure she'd went over all the ones she knew.

She couldn't help but shiver slightly as she stepped out of the shower, cold air prickling her skin as she pulled on a white robe. She stood in front of the mirror, manually combing through her wet hair. Closing her eyes, Clarke attempted to convince herself that when she opened them, she'd be back in her bedroom in district twelve, with her mother's fingers, not her own, untangling the knots in her blonde hair.

Instead, she was just met with the sight of her own bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Still in the training center, still in Polis. Still about to fight for her life.

Clarke stepped out of the bathroom in just her robe, keeping the light in her bedroom turned off as she settled herself on the white duvet. Her fingers grazed along the fabric, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. She wondered just how much had been changed since the building had been built. The training center was made as a housing and training area for the tributes seventy-five years ago, just before the first Hunger Games. Since then, District Twelve had only had one female victor, in the early days of the games. Years before the careers had begun to train, years before the wealthy districts had begun to treat the games as a festivity and not a punishment.

She couldn't help but wonder if they all felt the same way she did. Did the other women all break down in their beds, tears streaming down their face as they tried to convince themselves that it wasn't really happening. They'd all been in the same situation as she was; seventy-three of them had sat where she sat, slept where she slept, and waited just as anxiously for the day they would be forced to fight for their life in penance for an uprising they had never been a part of. And through all of that, seventy-two of them had never even made it out of the arena.

 

* * *

 

 

 

There’s no breakfast waiting for them when they finally leave their rooms that morning; their food would be served on the hovercraft to the arena.

Instead, Costia and Marcus stood by the elevator, somber expressions on their faces as Clarke and Finn stopped before them. All four of them were well aware of the fact that this would most likely be the last time they saw each other. For as Finn and Clarke made their way to the arena, Marcus and Costia would be inside the Games Headquarters, hopefully signing up their sponsors

“Good luck, you two..” Costia whispered tearfully, pulling them both into a tight hug. It was the most genuine show of emotion Clarke had seen from her, and she could only give a tight lipped smile in return. “And thank you.. For being the best tributes I’ve had the privilege of escorting.” As much dislike as she had harbored for the escort in the beginning, she'd somehow managed to grown on her as the week had progressed. To the point where Clarke's chest actually ached as she felt Costia pulling away from the embrace.

Marcus stepped forward as Costia dabbed at her eyes with a bright blue handkerchief, and Clarke had to force her own tears away.

“The second those games start, you run. Don’t go to the cornucopia and risk getting killed in the bloodbath. Remember what you’ve learned... And stay alive,” He murmured, giving them a smile. Him and Finn shared a quick handshake, and Clarke was enveloped into a tight hug.

“May we meet again,” Marcus murmured, clapping them both on the shoulder. Clarke nodded, and she heard the elevator doors open behind them.

“May we meet again.”

The two tributes stepped into the elevators in heavy silence, watching helplessly as the doors closed between them and the penthouse. They were dressed in regular clothing; the final preparations would be done in the catacombs beneath the arena itself, where they’d be given their tribute uniforms. The doors opened to reveal the roof, where Titus and Lexa were already waiting for them. Lexa gave Clarke a small nod, her face wiped of all emotion. After one final look to each other, the district twelve tributes stepped out of the elevator.

Two Polis hovercrafts appear before them, seemingly out of thin air, and Clarke takes in a final breath as they each drop down a ladder.

“I’ll see you in the arena..” Finn murmurs, and the two share a quick hug before each making their way to their respective ladders. The second her hands and feet are placed on the ladder rungs of the ladder, an electric current seems to freeze Clarke in place. Once she’s inside, the current doesn’t immediately release her, and a woman with bright pink hair steps forward with a needle in her hand.

“This is just your tracker; it lets the gamemakers see where you are in the arena at all times,” She explains, as the needle sinks into Clarke’s forearm. Once the needle is removed, she’s released from the ladder, and it drops back down to get Lexa.

A black haired avox leads the two of them down the hallway, to a room where their breakfast had been laid out for them. Clarke is sure that Lexa can sense she doesn’t wish to speak, because the two spend the ride in silence.

The sight of the food before them makes her stomach churn, but Clarke forced herself to eat with the reminder that this could very well be the last full meal she ever eats. It tastes like chalk, but she still forces the small bites of food down her throat, staring blankly out the windows.

For the first time, she really begins to think of what they’d be thrown into. Would it be a desert? A jungle? A frozen tundra? Clarke couldn't even begin to imagine. The view from the window beside her is the only thing that can take her mind off of her anxiety.

It’s a half hour later when the windows black out, an indication that they’re nearing the arena. The hovercraft lands soon after, and Clarke and Lexa make their way back to the ladder. They’re lowered into a large tube leading them into the catacombs, and follow the directions leading them to Clarke’s chamber. In Polis, it’s known as the launch room. In the districts, it’s referred to the stockyard.

Clarke steps inside. Everything inside is brand new, clean and in perfect condition. She knows she’ll be the first and only tribute to ever use this room. Each arena is considered a historical site, and a new one is built for every year’s games. Clarke remembered Costia mentioning how they were turned into tourist sites, where Polis residents would visit, tour the catacombs, rewatch the games. Apparently, some would even take part in reenactments.

It made Clarke sick to her stomach, imagining someone acting out her death for the sake of entertainment.

Clarke cleaned her teeth and washed her face, standing still as Lexa tied her hair back in a simple braid. She examined her chipped red nail polish; the only remnant of the prep team’s work.

Then the clothes arrived; they'd be the same for every tribute. This year, it consisted of white undergarments, dark green cargo pants pulled over thick black tights, a light brown long sleeve, and a sturdy leather belt. The boots were soft brown leather, with a flexible rubber sole made for running, pulled over thick socks that stopped at her mid-calf. With it also came a thick black jacket that went halfway down her thigh.

“The tights and the jacket are made to keep in body heat; expect some cool temperatures. The fact that the tights are separate from the pants shows you may not need them at all times. If you decide to take them off, make sure you keep them with you,” Lexa speaks softly as she helps Clarke into the black jacket. She nodded, giving her stylist a small but grateful smile as her fingers fidgeted with her father’s watch still around her wrist.

“Does everything fit?” Lexa asks, and Clarke takes a few steps around the room, nodding. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, “Okay, now we just wait for your call..”

Clarke sat down on one of the couches, taking shaky sips of a glass of water. After a few minutes she found herself chewing at the inside of her cheek again, and immediately tried to rinse away the metallic taste that flooded her mouth. Her anxiety seemed to get worse with every passing second her and Lexa sat in silence; within an hour, she could be dead, being sent back to District Twelve in a plain wooden coffin. Her and Lexa sit shoulder to shoulder until a robotic female voice announced that it was time to prepare for launch. She stood, setting her unfinished water glass on the table as her heart seemed to pound against her ribcage.

“Remember the advice you’ve been given,” Lexa murmured, engulfing Clarke in a tight hug. The blonde could only nod in return, clutching onto the woman before her, “Good luck, Clarke. I'm not allowed to bet on the games, but if I could, I'd be betting on you.”

For some reason, that phrase alone gave her a little bit more confidence in herself. She allowed herself to hang onto her stylist for another moment before she pulled away. With a deep breath, Clarke stepped onto the pad that would be lifting her into the arena. A glass cylinder began to descend, putting a wall between her and Lexa.

Clarke watched Lexa tap just beneath her own chin as the launch pad began to rise into the arena.

_Head high._

She gave a small nod, straightening her back and holding her chin high as she was engulfed by darkness. It lasted for about fifteen seconds; and then the plate was pushing her into open air. For a moment, Clarke was blinded by the sunlight, squinting in an attempt to get a proper view of the terrain and her fellow tributes. She heard the sound of Cage Wallace's voice booming through the arena.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!”

When Clarke’s eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight, the projected timer on top of the cornucopia read  _60._

One minute, that’s how long they have until the gong sounds, signalling the official start to the games. To her left is Illian, looking prepared to sprint towards the cornucopia. To her right is Charlotte, looking more anxious than Clarke had ever seen her. She can't seem to find Finn, assuming that he's hidden from her sight by the cornucopia. She tore her focus away from her competitors and scanned the terrain as the timer hit fifty seconds.

The tributes all stand in a flat, open stretch of grass, the cornucopia directly in the center holding their keys to survival. Water, food, weapons; it’s all right before them, laid out like a feast.

The arena was the largest Clarke has ever seen, and seemed to be split into three pieces, each with its own terrain. To her right was a small range of mountains that seemed to hold a system of caves; good for shelter, but not for fighting. To her left was a large stretch of hilly plains, with wheat stalks that must grow a half a foot above Clarke’s head. Directly across from her was a huge forest that seemed to take up half the arena, and her stomach sunk. That’s where she needed to go; it was the terrain she was most comfortable with, and it'd be her best chance of survival. Unfortunately, getting there would mean going straight through the center of the bloodbath.

 _Don’t go to the cornucopia and risk getting killed in the bloodbath.._ Marcus’ words echo in her mind. She takes a deep breath as the clock hits 30.

_Sorry, Marcus..._

Clarke knew she had no choice. She’d always been fast, if she could get to the cornucopia before everyone else, grab a weapon and a pack, she could run into the forest and avoid the bloodbath. The supplies were scattered out enough that there were a couple small things just a few feet away from her, but Clarke knew that the best supplies were nearest to the cornucopia, with the very best being inside the horn. She knows she'd have no chance of survival if she ran into he cornucopia, but she could see a dark green pack on the ground just beside the mouth, and only a few feet away seemed to be a small dagger. She didn't have to go into the cornucopia, she only had to run past it. She could only pray that she would be the first one there, and that the other tributes would be too focused on fighting for supplies to pay mind to her. With a deep breath she prepared herself to run.

With seven seconds left on the clock, what may have been the stupidest idea she'd ever come up with flitted through her mind. If she could somehow get off of her plate before the rest of her competitors, she'd have a head start. Even a second or two would be enough to give her a leg up on getting herself supplies.

Clarke glanced quickly at the ground surrounding the plate. Around each tribute it a set of landmines that could be set off by the smallest amount of pressure; set in place to stop them from getting off early, they could be triggered by something as small as a pin dropping, and it would blow the tribute to pieces before they had a chance to realize what would happen.

Her plan was nothing short of suicide; if she failed, if her timing was even a moment off, they'd be scraping whatever was left of her off of the ground to send back to twelve. But if she succeeded, she'd be at an advantage. She made her decision quickly praying that this would work, and the gamemakers wouldn't blow her to smithereens right there.

As she watched the _1_ flash above the mouth of the horn, she launched herself off of the plate.

Clarke's feet hit the ground running a mere millisecond after the gong had sounded, and relief flooded through her. The landmines didn't go off, and she now had an extra few feet ahead of her competitors as she sprints towards the cornucopia. She just managed to grab hold of the green pack and the dagger, but before she could get more than ten feet away from the horn, she felt a weight hitting her from the side and pinning her to the ground. Her dagger fell from her fingers, and she looked up with wide eyes to see the female tribute from district Eight sitting on her chest and pinning her to the dirt, a serrated knife the length of her thigh held above her head.

“Thought your little stunt could save you, fire girl?” Ankara grinned, a wicked expression that sent a shudder up her spine. Clarke moved on instinct, just barely managing to move her head out of the way as the blade in the girl's hand swung down, nicking her ear as it plunged into the ground.

She took the chance Ankara's mistake gave her, fingers closing around the hilt of her dagger. Her arm comes up, watching as the blade slices through her competitors neck with sickening ease. Blood splattered as she clutched at her neck, and Clarke shoved the girl off of her chest and scrambled to her feet. She could feet the droplets of warm blood on her face, but she shoved away her nausea. Adrenaline still pumping through her veins Clarke runs, feet pounding against the dirt as she sprinted away from the bloodbath without so much as a glance. She couldn't afford to wonder how many had already been killed, she needed to get as far away from her competitors as possible.

Once Clarke was absolutely sure she was deep enough into the woods that she wouldn't have to worry about those who were probably still fighting at the horn, she allowed herself to slow down slightly. The muscles in her legs were burning, but she knew she couldn't afford to stop.

 _Water.. Find water.._ Marcus’ voice echoed in her mind again, and she knew that that was a piece of advice she truly couldn't ignore.

She spent the next hour alternating between walking and jogging, searching for some sort of water source. At some point she heard the canons sound, signalling the end of the bloodbath. Clarke stopped for a moment, counting them. Eight tributes dead. One of them her own kill.

Clarke shook away the guilt that had settled in her stomach like a stone, starting to jog again so the burning in her legs could distract her from her feelings. It was Ankara's life or her own, she'd had no choice.

 

* * *

 

 

It was hours later, with still no sign of a water source, when Clarke finally forced herself to stop to check the contents of her pack; she knew she had to go through it before nightfall to sort out her supplies, and could only hope that the fact that it had been practically leaning against the mouth of the cornucopia was indication of the value of it's contents. Glancing around, Clarke made sure there was no one around before she knelt down, dagger still in hand as she unzipped the large pack.

The first thing she pulled out was a large waterbottle, about the length of her forearm and twice as large around. Clarke had to hold back a sob of relief when she heard the sound of liquid sloshing around inside. She quickly undid the cap, but forced herself to take a small sip and set it aside. She had no idea how long it would be before she found a water source; she'd have to make it last at least until then.

The next thing she pulled out was an array of food; dried fruit, nuts, and even a small package of dry meat. She forced herself to set it aside, knowing that her large breakfast should hold her off until at least nightfall if not longer.

By the time she’d gone through her entire pack, Clarke found herself with a thin black sleeping bag, three boxes of matches, a bottle of iodine, a small switchblade, a thick coil of rope, and a pair of what look like sunglasses. All of that on top of the water bottle, her dagger, and the food. Though Clarke knew it had been stupid, and had almost cost her her life, she was more thankful than ever that she had run to the cornucopia. She stuffed everything but the switchblade back into the bag, instead choosing to slip it into one of the pockets of her cargo pants. At the last second, she also stripped off her coat and stuffed it in, leaving her in just the dark brown long sleeve.

Clarke’s free hand moved up to wipe a few beads of sweat away from her forehead, and when she looked down, she found flecks of dried blood, bright red against her pale skin. Her throat closed as she imagined the girl’s family back in District Eight, filled with rage as they called for Clarke’s blood.

She shook her head, practically forcing the thoughts away as she continued her trek through the forest.

 _I did what I had to do.._ She repeated the words like a mantra, hoping if she said it enough, her guilt would dissipate.

Another couple hours passed before Clarke decided to set up camp. She bit her lip, as she scanned the area, knowing her only option for shelter would be one of the trees above her. The ground was clear, aside from the tree trunks, and setting camp against them would be more suicidal than her stunt on the platform.

So Clarke tucked her dagger into her belt and began to scale the nearest tree; a large oak, whose thick leaves would offer both cover and camouflage. On more than one occasion, the blonde almost lost her grip, her heart skipping a beat as it could hold her sleeping bag and deal with her weight. She pulled the sleeping bag and rope from her pack, and after a moment's thought, she decided to pull out her coat as well. She’d rather be too warm than too cold.

Clarke closed the pack and stuffed it to the bottom of the sleeping bag before slipping on her coat and climbing inside. She tied the rope around her midsection; a precaution in case she moved too much in her sleep and flipped over. It wasn't the most comfortable sleeping arrangement, especially after spending a week in the plush luxury of Polis, but it was the best she was going to get right now.

By the time she had finally settled herself in her sleeping bag to a point where she would be comfortable enough to sleep, the sun was beginning to set. She knew that by now, the careers had probably set up their camp by the cornucopia, rifling through the abundance of supplies that were left over from the bloodbath. It was extremely rare for careers to be killed so early in the games; that meant there was probably a minimum of six of them, maybe more if they had attempted to recruit other tributes into their alliance.

She stared up at the sky as it transitioned from warm pinks and oranges to a deep navy. It wasn’t long before the national anthem blared, and the seal of Arkadia flashed in the night sky. Clarke was just barely able to see through the leaves as she watched the seal fade away, and waited for the pictures of the fallen to grace the sky.

The first to appear was the girl from District three; that meant that Roan, Anya, Bellamy, Echo, and Illian were still alive. Though Clarke knew chances were slim, a small part of her had desperately hoped to see Echo's picture projected into the sky.

Next was the boy from District five, Riley. Immediately after was his female counterpart. After that was the girl from District six, and both tributes from District Eight. Clarke’s throat went dry as Ankara’s picture flashed above her.

The boy from District nine was next to appear in the sky, and Clarke’s heart sped up. Would Finn’s picture be the last?

She can’t help but think that maybe it would be better if Finn was gone already. It would take out the possibility of them being the last two tributes, forced to fight for the title of Victor. And maybe it would even allow Clarke to finally lock her emotions away and focus on winning.

Though when she looks up, it’s not Finn’s face shining in the sky, it’s the boy from District Eleven. A slight sigh leaves her lips, drowned out by the anthem, and she can’t help the relief that floods her chest.

Eight tributes were dead; only fifteen stood between her and the crown.

 

* * *

 

 

It was just after sunrise when the sound of a canon rung through the arena, jerking Clarke from her uneasy rest. Her dagger was in her hand in seconds, head whipping from side to side. After a moment of panic her brain finally seemed to realize the source of the sudden noise, and with a heavy sigh, she calmed down slightly.  _Nine down._ There was no point in trying to go back to sleep; it would be better for her to put more distance between herself and the cornucopia, just in case the careers decided to start hunting today.

She pulled her pack from the bottom of her sleeping bag, straddling the branch as she took a few small sips of water. She even allowed herself to indulge in a couple pieces of dried apple, knowing she'd need the energy for the coming day's trek.

As she stuffed all but her dagger and switchblade back into her pack, Clarke couldn’t help but wonder who the canon was for. She ignored her curiosity as she carefully climbed down the tree trunk. She'd know by nightfall; there was no point in wasting energy worrying about tributes who were already dead. She needed to focus on finding water. 

Clarke landed on the forest floor with a soft thud, leaves crunching beneath her feet with every step as she began to walk. The woods were still, and in between her footsteps she was able to occasionally catch the sound of a mockingjay singing in the distance. Her eyes still darted from side to side as she walked, constantly scanning the terrain in search of her competitors.

Clarke’s fingers clutched at her dagger, which was still coated in Ankara’s blood. She would wash it, along with her face, once she found a proper water source. She wasn’t willing to waste her drinking water just to clean something that would be coated in blood again the next time she came face to face with another tribute.

She whipped around, blade in hand as she heard a rustle behind her. A sigh left her mouth as she watched a small rabbit hop from a bush, the corners of her lips turning up slightly as she watched it hop away. If there was one, there had to be hundreds more within the forest. All Clarke needed was a ranged weapon; a bow, a spear, a couple knives. And she could try to hunt.

She trekked through the woods for hours, once more alternating between jogging and walking as she continued her search for water. It was around midday when the sweltering heat began to get to her, making her feel lightheaded. It was another hour before she allowed herself to take a break. She stopped to rest on a rock, keeping her dagger beside her as she stripped off her boots and cargo pants. Clarke removed her tights and stuffed them into her pack, pulling back on her pants as quickly as she could. If possible, she would prefer to avoid fighting in her underwear. She quickly laced her boots back up before pulling out her water bottle, taking a much larger sip than she should have. She sat for another minute, before rolling up her sleeves and continuing her search.

The sun was beginning to set and still, Clarke had no luck finding any source of water. She knew that her search would be pointless after dark, and she’d have no chance tomorrow if she didn’t get some rest. So she climbed the nearest tree - a large willow - and set up her sleeping bag in a fork between two branches.

Clarke forced herself to stay awake until the national anthem played, and the sky showed the deaths of the day. There was only one; the girl from District Nine, Tris. The day's heat had taken it’s toll on her, and only minutes after the anthem had faded, Clarke found herself drifting off, curled in her sleeping bag.

 

* * *

 

 

_Snap!_

Clarke was woken up only a few hours later by the sounds of branches breaking, and her eyes shot open. She held her breath, staying absolutely silent as the sounds continued.

_Snap! Snap!_

They weren’t the sounds of branches beneath someone’s feet. Clarke’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the almost pitch-black of the forest, but once they did, she could barely make out a small figure moving not far away, obviously snapping twigs from the trees around them without even an attempt to be quiet.

Then, from the darkness, Clarke watched as a small fire bloomed, and a pair of hands moved to warm themselves over it. Her eyes widened, and she wanted to scream at whoever it was; a fire this late at night, even in the forest, was an idiotic move. A fire at this time, when the stronger competitors had probably been hiking through the woods in search of victims for hours, was nothing short of a death wish. The tribute may as well have been waving a giant flag and screaming _Come get me!_

And here Clarke was, trapped in her sleeping bag, less than ten feet away from what may well have been the biggest idiot in the games. She wasn’t willing to move, knowing that her location had just been revealed to any tribute out hunting for someone to kill.

So she sat, trying to stay as motionless as she possibly could, as she waited for the footsteps to come. A few times, Clarke considered slipping from her bag and killing the tribute herself. From what she'd seen, they were small, she could overpower them easily. But each time, she felt her gut twist with guilt at the thought. She didn't need to kill them, they weren't a threat to her. It was almost a full hour later when footsteps finally came; what sounded like five or six pairs of feet, hooting and breaking out into a run once they saw what remained of the small fire.

_Careers._

Whoever the tribute was must have fallen asleep, because they don't even make an attempt to run as the career pack converged on them. Clarke watched the scene, just barely illuminated by the remnants of the fire. In the silence of the woods a small voice rang out, pleading for her life. The girl's pleading was only met with laughter from the careers, and Clarke had to squeeze her eyes shut and push away the nausea that formed in her stomach at the sound of a blade sinking cleanly into flesh, followed by a high pitched scream. It was only moments later when the canon sounded, and a chorus of cheers followed the sound.

“Ten down, fourteen to go!” Clarke recognized the low voice; John Murphy from district four. The thought of the sadistic smirk that must have been painted across his face made her grit her teeth, staying absolutely silent as his words are met with another round of hollers.

Clarke stayed still well after the careers' voices and footsteps had disappeared, paranoid that they would turn around and come back for her. After she was absolutely certain that the other tributes had left, she let out a heavy sigh. She knew she wouldn't be getting any more sleep that night; the girl's pleas were still ringing out in her mind. She glanced over at the fire for a moment, her chest constricting as she saw the face of the young girl from district eleven, Charlotte, only inches from the flame.

Clarke forced herself to look away before the bile rising in her throat decided to make a proper appearance. For a moment, she was unsure of what to do; she had no desire to sit in her sleeping bag for another few hours, but with the careers roaming the forest, it wasn’t safe to continue looking for water. Clarke’s eyes widened as she was hit with a sudden realization.

She had seen six silhouettes disappear into the forest. All six careers were currently combing the woods. It meant one of two things; the supplies at the cornucopia were unguarded, or the careers had other allies. Before Clarke was fully aware of what she was doing, she shimmied out of her sleeping back and quietly made her way down from the tree. The second her feet hit the forest floor, Clarke broke out into a run, towards the center of the arena. It would be another four hours until sunrise, at the very least. She could get to the supplies and back into the woods before then. Even if the careers decided to end their hunting early and go back to camp, they had been heading deeper into the woods. She’d get there before they did.

She only hoped that they were stupid enough to leave it unguarded.

It was another hour before Clarke reached the edge of the forest, but she kept herself hidden until she got a good look at what she was dealing with. The supplies were all laid out in front of the cornucopia. And sitting right by the mouth, Clarke could see someone holding a torch. She pursed her lips, before making her decision. Those supplies; the extra food and water, the long range weapons, the medical supplies. They could all be the key to her survival, and she was more than willing to take another life to get to them, if that's what needed to be done.

She was quiet as she stepped into the clearing, the darkness hiding her movements. The tribute had their back to her, she had the element of surprise. It was a boy, lean, but still almost twice her size. Clarke took in a silent breath through her nose as she got closer, her own heartbeat so loud in her ears she was sure it was going to give her away. She was five feet away when her toe caught on a spear laying on the ground, causing it’s tip to hit against the cornucopia.

Her body made the decision before her mind could; as the tribute turned around, she leaned down, and before she’d registered her own movements, the spear had flown from her hand and pierced his neck.

The torch dropped to the ground, his fingers clawing at the handle protruding from his neck as he dropped to the ground. Clarke tried to ignore the sputtering coming from behind her as she sprinted to the supplies, stuffing another water bottle, a medical kit and some more packages of dried fruit into her bag. The canon sounded just as she stuffed a half a dozen throwing knives into the front pocket of her pack.

Clarke couldn't help but take one last look at the body on the ground, pressing her lips into a thin like. Ilian, district three. Her second kill since she'd gotten into the arena.

 _You can feel guilty once you’ve won._ She thought to herself, fingers tightening around the dagger that was still coated in Ankara’s blood as she turned and sprinted back to the forest.

 

* * *

 

Light had begun to filter through the trees as Clarke continued her search for water. The extra bottle that now resided in her pack was a source of comfort, but she knew it wouldn’t be nearly enough to last her through the rest of the games. She needed to find a stream or a pond, and she needed to do it fast.

By now, the careers must have made their way back to the cornucopia. Ilian's body would have already been taken away, but the pool of blood that had stained the packed dirt would be enough explanation for his absence. Would they even notice the missing supplies among the piles still left behind? Would they be angry, come hunting after whoever did it? Would they know it had been her to kill their guard and raid their camp?

_Don’t be stupid.. There are seven tributes outside of their alliance._

Clarke took a deep breath. There was no way they’d think it was her. She was safe, as long as she managed to avoid them as they went on their nightly hunt for more prey.

She was too engrossed in her thoughts, not paying enough attention to the terrain around her. Before she'd realized what had happened, the toe of her boot caught on a tree root and she found herself flying forward. All she could do was move her arms in a mediocre attempt to protect her head from any sort of impact as she tumbled down the sloped ground.

The air was torn from her lungs as she felt herself collide with a large oak tree. An involuntary groan of pain left her mouth as her side smacked against the trunk, gasping for air as she tried to push herself up onto her hands and knees. Her hands slipped on the ground, fingers digging into the mud below her in search of some sort of holding point. Her side was throbbing as she tried to remember how to breath again, pain shooting through her with every attempted breath she took. Her fingers dug deeper into the ground below her, but her eyes shot open as her mind seemed to realize exactly what she was trying to grab on to.

_Mud!_

She finally managed to push herself up properly, eyes wide as she took in the sight before her with a breathless laugh, relief shooting through her in waves as she crawled towards the riverbed. The pain in her side forgotten she dipped her face into the water, relishing in the cold as she began to scrub the blood and dirt from her face and arms. When she was finally able to properly stand, she stripped to her underwear and washed her clothes, watching the stream carry away the flecks of blood and dirt.

Clarke laid the clothes on a nearby stone to dry, knowing that with the heat, it would take maybe a half hour. She stepped into the stream, letting the water run over her feet as she undid her braid, leaning her head over to rinse out her hair. Once she'd cooled down, she made her way to a nearby rock, feet still in the stream as she tied back her wet hair and reached for her now dried clothes. Pulling on her cargo pants and boots, Clarke practically froze as she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Reaching for her dagger she turned, lunging forward as she pressed the blade of her dagger to the jugular of her competitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the games begin! As always, if you enjoyed, please leave Kudos or comments, and bookmark to know when I update the story!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!Chapter has been edited!!

 

 

As Clarke processed the scene in front of her, she was extremely thankful that the source of the noise hadn't been any closer when she'd swung around. Finn stood before her, hands up in a plea of surrender and eyes wide as he looked between the bloodstained dagger pressed to his neck and her face. There were a few moments where neither of them said a word, didn't move a muscle. They didn't even seem to breath, both waiting for the other to break the tense silence. Just beneath the blade of her dagger, Clarke watched as Finn swallowed, adams apple bobbing slightly.

"Allies?" His voice was barely above a whisper, worry clouding his eyes as if he was legitimately concerned that Clarke would refuse and slit his throat. After a moment she nodded, letting her arm fall slack at her side. She wasn't sure which one of them moved to initiate it, but she found herself wrapped in Finn's tight embrace just a moment later, face buried in the crook of his neck. They both pulled away at the same time, the air between them significantly lighter.

“Here. Water,” She reached down for the bottle she had taken from the careers and tossing it to him. Finn shot her a grateful smile before taking a few large gulps. She wasn't sure how long he'd been without water, but judging by the way he easily downed almost the entire bottle, she assumed he hadn't had any since the games began. He seemed to be scarce on supplies, with just a small pack slung over his shoulder and a serrated knife tucked into the loop of his belt. Clarke assumed he had played it safe and followed Marcus' advice to stay away from the bloodbath. She watched as he leaned forward to refill the bottle from the stream, and that was when her eyes caught sight of his side.

A good chunk of his shirt was completely gone, and from the look of the scorch marks around the edges of the fabric that was left, she could only assume that it had been burned away. With his arm in the way she couldn't see much of the exposed skin, but what little bit she was able to catch sight of was almost enough to make bile rise in her throat. Stepping forward she moved his arm, barely paying mind as he looked down at her curiously, as if to ask what she was doing. Clarke had to hold back a gasp as she got a proper look at the injury; it seemed to be a third degree burn. Parts of his skin were charred or bubbling, and whatever area wasn't dark grey had taken on an angry red colour. Large, painful looking blisters had formed around the edges of the burn, and if she'd had any real food in her stomach, Clarke was sure that the sight would have been more than enough to make her vomit.

“Finn, what the hell happened?” She breathed out, still kneeling beside him as she let go of his arm and moved to look at him properly.

“Just a little burn, princess," Finn shot her a grin, which disappeared the second she shot him an annoyed glare, "It was some sort of trap set up by the gamemakers. Happened just under an hour ago, while I was searching for water. Huge fireball came out of nowhere and I didn't move fast enough," He spoke softly, looking down at Clarke as she went back to examining the wound, “Don't worry, Clarke, I'm fine. It doesn't hurt that--"

“It doesn't hurt because there's severe nerve damage. You'll need some sort of medicine, burn cream or something.." Clarke reached behind her to grab her pack, digging through it in search of the medical kit she'd swiped from the careers, "At the very least, you'll need bandages. It'll get infected otherwise," Indra's speech on survival skills flashed through her mind.  _Exposure can kill as easily as a knife_. Working with her mother, Clarke knew exactly how quickly an infection could kill someone. She let out a sigh of relief as she finally found the medical kit, popping it open and digging through it in search of some sort of disinfectant. The most she could find was a small container of rubbing alcohol, "This is the best we're gonna get right now,"

"This is going to sting anywhere the nerves aren't completely fried," She warned, glancing up at Finn. All he did was shoot her a look that told her to just get it over with. Biting her lip, Clarke kept her touches as gentle as possible as she cleaned off the wound, forcing herself to continue even when he let out hisses of pain through clenched teeth. It took about ten minutes and the majority of their isopropyl alcohol and bandages, but Clarke managed to clean out and wrap the wound.

“Let’s just hope that Marcus can scrape together enough sponsor money to get us some medicine before we need to change the wrappings," Clarke moved to stand, shoving the medical kit back in her pack and reaching for her shirt that was still spread out across the rock. They could hope all they wanted, but she knew chances of Marcus actually being able to get them medicine was slim. Item prices raised as the games continued, and even though it was only the second day, Clark was sure the prices for any sort of medical supplies would be sky high. She had been lucky to even get her hands on a medical kit in the first place.

“What happened to your side?” Finn's voice pulled her away from her thoughts. Momentarily confused, she followed his gaze to her side, where she noticed a dark bruise already beginning to form from her earlier collision with the tree trunk. Scrunching up her nose she pulled back on her shirt, ignoring the slight pain as she raised her arm.

“I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have been; tripped over a root and ended up rolling right into a tree," In any other situation, she would have found it humorous. Now it just meant something else making life in the arena just a little more difficult. Finn chewed on his bottom lip, nodding a little in acknowledgement before moving to kneel by the creek bed. As Clarke sat, cross legged and leaning against one of the rocks, she momentarily realized that this was the longest she'd spent resting -outside of sleeping- since she's gotten into the arena. It was only the second day, but already it felt like she'd spent weeks walking through the forest.

“Where’d you get the pack from?” Clarke broke the silence as Finn set out his clothes to dry on one of the rocks, settling himself beside her.

“That Tris girl.. I ran into her yesterday around midday” He muttered, and Clarke nodded a bit, needing no more explanation. Finn had done what he needed to do to survive, just as she had. As if searching for a chance in subject she rifled through her own pack and pulled out the small baggy of dried apples, offering it to Finn who accepted graciously.

“I don’t have to ask you about that.. Saw you running from the cornucopia just before I bolted into the woods,” He chuckled softly, gesturing towards her dark green pack as he took a bite of one of the slices, "I'm not that surprised, though. I didn't really expect you to heed to Marcus' advice about the cornucopia." Finn murmured, and she couldn't help but agree with that. Even if she hadn't needed to go towards the horn, a part of her suspected that she would have anyways.

“Yea.. Shocked I even made it to the cornucopia in the first place,” She murmured, dry humor beneath her voice as she thought of both her near suicide plot before the gong had even sounded, and her run in with Ankara. Finn looked at her out of the corner of his eye, forehead creasing in confusion as he zipped up the bag of dried apples.

"What do you mean?" He asked, handing the bag back to Clarke. For a moment she wondered how on earth he didn't know what she was referring to, but she realized why as she was putting away the dried fruit. Finn had been on the other side of the cornucopia; he wouldn't have been able to see her little stunt.

“I figured the only way I'd be able to get to the supplies and get out before the bloodbath started was if I had an advantage," She shrugged, reaching for her water bottle and taking a small sip before she continued, "So I jumped off the plate early. My feet hit the ground right as the gong sounded, and I had a couple extra feet over the rest of the tributes," Finn was silent for a moment, staring at her with what could only be described as absolute shock, before a laugh rung through the clearing. Almost immediately, Clarke clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling the sound, "Finn! There could be other tributes around, shut up!" She hissed through clenched teeth, only pulling her hand away when she felt him stop shaking with silent laughter.

"I know, I'm sorry," His voice was quiet, and Clarke visibly relaxed slightly when she didn't see any other tributes coming through the trees at the sound of Finn's sudden outburst, "I just.. You'd be the only person to think of a plan as absolutely moronic as that, and still have it succeed." Clarke had to fight back a smile, unable to find fault in his statement.

"I'm just shocked the gamemakers haven't killed me off yet for breaking the rules. Actually, scratch that- I'm surprised they didn't blow me to pieces with the landmines anyways," She admitted, letting out a breath that just barely resembled a quiet laugh.

“They wouldn't do that," Finn shook his head, and Clarke was a little confused by the confidence he seemed to have behind the statement. He began to explain before she had the chance to ask, "Look at it this way; the gamemakers want an interesting game. They want high ratings, they want to  _impress._ Everything about you; the tribute parade, your interview, your stunt on the plate and the fact that you got the first kill of the games? Everything about you impresses, they wouldn't want to lose that so early." For a moment, she mulled over it. She saw where Finn was coming from, but something else in his statement drew her attention.

"I got the first kill? Ankara was the first dead?" Clarke looked over, eyebrows furrowed as Finn nodded. She hadn't been paying much attention to what had been going on around her at the time, and she  _had_   killed Ankara only about thirty seconds after the gong sounded. It was very likely, but Clarke had never paid much attention to the possibility that she had drawn first blood. In Polis, it was something of a status symbol, especially among victors. If the tribute who drew first blood survived the first day, they'd more often than not get hoards of sponsors flooding their way. More often than not, it was the career tributes who held the "honour". In the districts, first blood was seen as a way to show which tribute was the most violent, the most bloodthirsty. The thought of those things being associated with her name made her insides twist uncomfortably.

“It’s part of the games, Clarke. She attacked you first; you had no choice,” Finn interrupted her thoughts, resting a gentle hand on her thigh as he felt her change in demeanor. Clarke could only sigh in return, biting her lip.

"We're only two days into the games and I've already killed two people. I killed Ilian too, y'know?" She admitted, leaning her head back against the rock.

“Yea, and I killed a fourteen year old girl who was half my size. No one in this arena is innocent, Clarke. The fact that you can sit here and feel guilty for the lives you’ve taken is enough proof that you’re not a terrible person.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his side. Clarke stayed silent, relaxing ever so slightly against him.

“He had his back to me," Clarke murmured. She didn't know why she felt the need to tell Finn what happened, but she did. Maybe it was because she thought he'd have a different outlook once he knew that her second kill hadn't been in self defense. "He was guarding the careers supplies. I grabbed a spear and put it through his neck before he'd even gotten the chance to see my face."

Finn was silent for a few moments, and Clarke could only assume he was mulling over the information, planning to take back what he had said about her not being a terrible person. Instead he let out a frustrated sigh, gaze focused on the running water of the stream.

“And I'm sure if you had been in his position, and he had been in yours, he would have made the exact same choice. Every single person in this arena probably would." He retorted, "Everyone in here is a fucking coward, everyone. Hell, look at the careers. They hunt at night, when everyone else is asleep because they'd rather their prey didn't put up a fight."

A part of her knew that Finn was right, but the guilt in her stomach was telling her otherwise. Not in the mood to dwell on the subject any longer. She rose from her sitting position, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

“We’ll need to find somewhere to sleep. Trees aren't going to be an option now that there's too of us, most of the branches barely fit me alone," Clarke muttered, gathering up their supplies.

“What if we just took shifts?" He suggested, moving to stand, "One of us can sleep, the other can sit and keep watch for any other tributes. We can just switch out every couple hours, that way we aren't caught off guard if the careers show up or something,"

Clarke mulled over the idea for a few moments before nodding, "It's smart, doesn't leave us defenseless either. It's better than spending hours trying to find somewhere we can hide out on the ground. Do you have any weapons?"

“Just this," He patted the serrated knife that was still hooked through his belt, and Clarke nodded a little.

“It’s better than nothing; I have a couple throwing knives I got from the careers, and this” She held up her dagger, before following in Finn's footsteps and slipping it through her belt, "Let's get walking. We want our camp to be far away from the stream, just in case any other tributes find it." He nodded a little in agreement, and the two began to walk through the woods, perpendicular to the stream. It was about five minutes later when they came across a large willow, with more than a few branches that should support their weight with no issue,

“This one should be good, right?” Finn raised an eyebrow as he patted the trunk, and Clarke nodded in agreement.

“Yea, it should be, at least for tonight," She slipped her pack off her shoulders, stuffing her dagger in amongst the rest of their supplies before pulling out a couple of throwing knives, "I'm gonna head back to the stream; fill up the water bottles, see if I can find something other than dried fruit for us to eat for dinner. I saw a rabbit not too far away, if I can pick one or two off it'll give us food for a couple days," Clarke slung the pack back on and glanced at Finn, who had settled himself against the trunk of the willow, "Don't get yourself killed while I'm gone, Collins," With that, she turned, making her way back towards the stream.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was just beginning to drop low over the horizon when Clarke came back, the carcass of a large rabbit in her hand. Finn was still leaned back against the willow's trunk, fiddling absentmindedly with a coil of steel wire.

“I take it we’re gonna be eating fresh meat tonight?” He smiled, raising an eyebrow as he caught sight of the animal in Clarke's hand. She shot back a slight smile, nodding.

“Yup; we can mix some of the dried fruits and put them in one bag, use the empty ones for leftovers,"Clarke tossed the rabbit into Finn's lap, "Skin this thing, I'll start a fire."

Finn chuckled a little as he caught the carcass, pulling his knife from his belt loop as he watched the blonde pick as many loose sticks and dry leaves as she could from the forest floor, "You got it, Princess,"

“When are you gonna give up that nickname, Finn?” She let out a soft huff as she began to form a small, makeshift fire pit, but she couldn't help the small smile that pulled at her lips.

“Not until the day I die,” He joked, and Clarke watched from the corner of her eye as he began to skin the rabbit, "Which, in here, might just be pretty damn soon,"

His tone was still joking, but either way, she shot him a glare.

"Don't talk like that,"

Finn just gave her a half smile and a shrug, as if to say  _It's true, though_ before he turned his attention back to the dead animal in his hands.

It was just under half an hour later when they'd finally finished; Clarke had managed to coax a decent sized flame out of their mediocre ignition material, and roasting above it was the dead rabbit. The smell of cooked meat made them both salivate, but she carefully made sure that it was cooked thoroughly before taking it off the flame. The grease from the meat coated their fingers, and they had just barely managed to stop themselves from devouring the whole animal in one sitting. They easily polished off half of it between the two of them before deciding to stop, Clarke picking the leftover meat off of the bones and storing it in a plastic bag, while Finn stomped out what remained of their almost pitiful fire.

“We should set up camp now," Finn helped her pack up the last of their supplies, "The sun's about to set, I'm sure the careers are gonna start hunting soon," He pointed out, and Clarke nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take first watch, just be careful.. We won’t climb too high, your side may not be able to take it.” It just now seemed to occur to her just how difficult it may be for Finn to climb with his side the way it was, and Clarke momentarily considered just setting up camp on the ground. Sensing her worries, Finn moved to bump their shoulders together.

“I’ll be fine, Princess,” He assured, slinging his small pack over his shoulder. Nodding a bit, Clarke began to scale the tree, ignoring the dull ache in her side as she searched for a branch low enough that it wouldn't pain Finn to get to it, but high enough that they tree's foliage would hide them from any passing tributes. Finn followed after her, and after a few moments they managed to find a cluster of three thick branches, close enough that they were almost weaving together. Tossing the sleeping bag and the rope over the branches, she shifted out of the way and allowed Finn to position himself comfortably in the sleeping bag, tying himself down. Once she was sure he was settled, Clarke sat on what little bit of the branch was left, leaning her back against the trunk as she watched the sun begin to set.

They both stayed awake until the anthem rung through the arena, though Clarke already knew the two faces that would be projected overhead. She felt her chest constrict as she watched Ilian's picture flash against the stark blue expanse of sky. One more family, torn apart and calling for her blood. Pushing the thought away she stayed silent as she heard Finn drift off to sleep, dagger in hand and pack nestled between her fingers as she watched for any sign of their competitors.

She let Finn sleep for almost five hours; the bags under his eyes showed that he probably hadn't gotten enough rest the night before. Clarke could only assume it was due to the mixture of cold nights, Finn's lack of sleeping bag, and the overall stress of being in the arena. Her sleep had been restless, sure, but she'd still gotten more than enough.

“Why didn’t you wake me at two hours?” Finn murmured, and Clarke jumped slightly at the sudden break in the silence. She only shrugged at his accusatory stare as she watched him slip from the sleeping bag.

"You needed the rest more than I did," She shrugged, and ignored his huff of annoyance.

"Whatever; sleep now, I'll watch," Her protests died on her lips as he took the dagger and pack from her hands, and she reluctantly climbed into the warmth of the sleeping bag.

 

“Goodnight, Finn..” She murmured, her eyelids growing heavy almost the second she managed to get comfortable.

“Night, Princess..”

Once he was entirely sure that Clarke had fallen asleep, Finn leaned down to press a barely noticeable kiss to the crown of her head.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Finn woke her up, Clarke could see sunlight streaming through the leaves in front of her. Sitting up almost immediately, she rubbed her eyes as they adjusted to the light.

“What the hell, Finn?” She whisper-yelled, shooting him a glare as she lightly hit his arm, "You were supposed to wake me up after two hours!"

“ _Y_ _ou needed your rest more than I did_ ,” He mocked her words from the night before, a slight grin on his face, and all Clarke could do was let out a few muttered curse words as she stuffed the sleeping bag and the coil of rope back into her pack. They stayed in the tree for a little while longer, shoulder to shoulder against the trunk as they cleaned off half of what was left of the rabbit. They should have been rationing a little better, but Clarke continually pushed the thought away. There would be hundreds of animals in the woods, they'd find another rabbit soon enough. If they didn't, they still had their dried food to fall back on. As she licked the rabbit grease from her fingers and put the last of the food back in her pack, she caught sight of Finn fiddling with something shiny.

“What’s that?” Clarke asked, moving to lean back against the trunk of the tree as she regarded the object with curiosity. Finn glanced up at her for a moment before looking back down, smiling a little.

“Found some wire in the bottom of Tris’ pack, figured I’d do something to pass the time,” He held up what Clarke now realized was a small statue, and she looked at it in slight awe. Perched delicately on Finn's palm, crafted intricately from thin pieces of wire, was a small stag.

“Finn, that’s.. That’s incredible” She murmured, examining the statue carefully. He watched her with a small smile on his face, expression a mix of sheepishness and pride, before he held it out.

"Here, you have it,"

Clarke glanced between the figurine and Finn, shaking her head, "Finn no, I can't take that, it's-"

“Seriously, take it.” Finn insisted, placing the deer in her palm and closing her fingers around it. Feeling heat creep up the back of her neck, Clarke didn't move to stop him, instead just giving him a small smile.

"Thank you, Finn," She murmured, moving her hand away after a moment to slip the statue into the front pocket of her pack, They fell back into comfortable silence, neither of them wanting to break the tranquility of the moment. As she looked up to the branches above them and caught a hint of silver peeking through the foliage, though, Clarke felt as though she had no choice.

“What the hell’s that?” She murmured, hand braced against the trunk as she moved to stand. She squinted, trying to catch another glimpse of whatever had been glinting in the sunlight.

“What?” Finn asked, trying to see what Clarke was talking about. It took them both a moment, but their eyes finally landed on the small, silver cylinder a few feet above, with it's parachute tangled among the branches.

“It’s a sponsor package,” Finn breathed out what they had both realized, shifting to stand. He stopped when Clarke placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head.

“No, I’ll get it, the branch it’s on is too thin to support your weight. Plus, you’re injured,” Before he could think of a way to protest, Clarke had begun to scale the tree.

“You’re injured too!” He whisper yelled, letting out a mix between a sight and a laugh as she completely ignored him. Clarke couldn't help but wonder what it was; they weren’t particularly in need of water, or food, or even weapons.

_Medicine._

That was the only thing it could be; medicine for Finn’s burn. There was absolutely nothing else they needed. Clarke climbed faster, finally pulling herself up onto the thin branch that the package was caught on. Her heart raced in her chest, trying to keep her balance as she slowly stepped towards the silver cylinder. The branch began to bend under her weight, but after a minute, Clarke managed to snatch the package.

“Got it!” She slowly shuffled back towards the tree’s trunk, her heart seeming to drop down to her stomach each time she made a misstep and almost sent herself crashing to the ground. She took a deep breath, and moving carefully, made her way back down to the branch on which Finn was now standing. After quickly packing up their supplies they both made their way down the tree, dry leaves crunching beneath them as their feet hit the forest floor.

Once they were on the ground, Clarke detached the parachute, slowly unscrewing the lid to the silver container. The second she removed the top, the chemical smell hit her nose, and she couldn't help but make a face.

“It’s definitely burn cream,” She screwed back on the lid, slipping it into her pocket, “We should go back to the creek first; clean it again, put this on, and re-bandage it.”

The two walked in silence back to the creek, Finn seeming antsy to put to cream on his burn. Clarke understood; she couldn't imagine the pain it might be causing him now that the shock had worn off. She forced him to sit down on one of the rocks as she puled out the rubbing alcohol again, removing the used bandages and cleaning out the wound.

"This should soothe it," She murmured, taking a small amount of cream on her fingers and beginning to gentle rub it into the red, irritated skin. She watched and felt Finn relax beneath her fingers, a heavy sigh leaving him almost the second the cream was rubbed on. Clarke used only what she needed to, before closing the container and wrapping his torso back up with what was left of their bandages. 

 

* * *

 

They stayed by the creek the whole day, finishing off the rabbit and some of their dried fruit for lunch. At some point just past midday, Clarke made her way back into the forest in search of a few more rabbits. The large one she had caught hadn't even lasted four meals; the two of them needed to get a lot better at rationing, because Clarke was sure that this lull in activity wouldn't last for much longer. She came back just as the sun was about to set, two rabbits in hand. She handed them to Finn before moving towards the stream, washing the blood from her hands and her weapons.

"Should we cook them now, or wait until tomorrow?" She asked, drying her hands off on her pants as she watched Finn begin to skin the animals.

"Cook at least one of them now; if they take too long, we can wait and do the second one tomorrow. We don't wanna risk the careers catching sight of our fire in the dark. There's still six of them, we wouldn't stand a chance,"

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Collins,” Clarke couldn't help but attempt a joke, seeing Finn's lips turn up into a smile. She knew he was right though; especially with both of them injured to an extent, a fight against one or two careers would be difficult. They'd stand no chance against all six. With a sigh she moved towards the creek, splashing water in her face in an attempt to cool down as Finn moved to skin the second rabbit. Clarke crawled away from the stream and back towards their makeshift fire pit, gathering as many dry sticks as she could find and igniting them quickly. She was just putting the first rabbit above the flame when Finn broke the comfortable silence with a surprisingly somber topic.

“Do you ever wonder what would happen if everyone just… Refused to fight?” Finn didn't look up from the rabbit in his hand. Clarke looked away from the fire for a moment, staring at him in a nearly confused silence before she responded.

“They wouldn’t.”

“But what if they did?” She watched him look up from the rabbit, halting the movements of his hands as they locked eyes. Hidden in his gaze was an intensity Clarke had never seen from him before. This obviously wasn't a thought that had come to Finn out of the blue, "What if one year, all the tributes just refused? Said fuck you to Polis and didn't play by their stupid rules? What would happen?" Clarke pursed her lips, turning to look back at the small flame.

"You want to hear my honest opinion?" From the corner of her eye, she watched Finn nod, "They'd be killed. Their families, their friends, everyone they cared about. The president would kill them just to prove a point; prove that they have no say, that they have no choice. We're all a bunch of pawns to them. They don't care about our lives, no one in Polis does. The gamemakers just want a good show. The citizens just want to relish in the gore and bloodshed without having to participate in it themselves. And Wallace just wants us all to know that we're pressed under his thumb, and there's nothing we can do about it."

A somber silence followed Clarke's words. She couldn't tell if her response had shocked Finn into silence, or if the other was too lost in his own thoughts to add in his two cents. Neither of them managed to stomach much of the rabbit after that, and went about wrapping up the leftovers and stomping out their fire in an uneasy silence.


End file.
